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BX  5937  .B83  N4  1896 
Brooks,  Phillips,  1835-1893. 
New  starts  in  life  '9 

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Phillips  Brooks's  Sermons 


In  Ten  Volumes 
1st  Series     The  Purpose  and  Use  of  Comfort 

And  Other  Sermons 

2d  Series  The  Candle  of  the  Lord 

And  Other  Sermons 

3d  Serioi         Sermons  Preached  in  English 
Churches 

And  Other  Sermons 
4th  Series     VisionS  and  Tasks     And  Other  Sermons 

5th  Series  The  Light  of  the  World 

And  Other  Sermons 
6th  Series     The  Battle  of  Life     And  Other  So-mons 

7th  Series    Sermons  for  the  Principal  Festi- 
vals and  Fasts  of  the  Church  Year 

Edited  by  the  Rev.  John  G)tton  Brooks 
8th  Series      NeW  Starts  in  Life     And  Other  Sermons 

9th  Series  The  Law  of  Growth 

And  Other  Sermons 
1 0th  Series  Seeking   Life      And  Other  Sermons 

E.   P.   Dutton   and   Company 

681   Fihh  AveBue  New  York  | 


New  Starts  in  Life 


(  JO 

And  Other  Sermons  ,,x 


By  the 
Rt.  Rev.  Phillips  Brooks,  D.D. 


Eighth  Series 


NEW  YORK 
E.  P.  DUTTON  &  COMPANY 

68i  Fifth  Ave. 


COFVSIGHT,  1896 
BY 

E.  P.  UUTTON  &  COMPANY 


CONTENTS. 


Sermon  pacs 

I.     New  Starts  in  Life i 

' '  And  when  he  had  agreed  with  the  laborers  for  a 
penny  a  day  he  sent  them  into  his  vineyard." — Mat- 
thew XX.  2.     (Sept.  28,  1879.) 

II.     The  Tares  and  the  Wheat 20 

"  But  he  said,  Nay  ;  lest  while  ye  gather  up  the 
tares,  ye  root  up  also  the  wheat  with  them.  Let  both 
grow  together  until  the  harvest." — Matthew  xiii.  29. 
(Feb.  6,  1887.) 

III.  The  Motive  of  Religion 36 

"  Then  Satan  answered  the  Lord  and  said.  Doth 
Job  serve  God  for  nought  ? " — Job  i.  9.  (Dec,  11,  1887.) 

IV.  Unseen  Spiritual  Helpers 51 

*'  And  Elisha  prayed  and  said,  Lord,  I  pray  thee, 
open  his  eyes,  that  he  may  see.  And  the  Lord  opened 
the  eyes  of  the  young  man  ;  and  he  saw  :  and,  behold, 
the  mountain  was  full  of  horses  and  chariots  of  fire 
round  about  Elisha." — 2  Kings  vi.  17.   (Feb.  23,  1873.) 

V.     Heavenly  Wisdom 70 

"  I  said  I  will  be  wise  :  but  it  was  far  from  me." — 
Ecclesiastes  vii.  23.    (Nov,  3,  1884.) 

VI.    The  Duties  of  Privilege 86 

"  But  glory,  honor,  and  peace,  to  every  man  that 
worketh  good,  to  the  Jew  first,  and  also  to  the  Gentile." 
— Romans  ii.  10.    (Jan.  14,  1877.) 


IV  CONTENTS. 

Sesmok  Pagb 

VII.     The  Sacredness  of  Life io6 

"  He  asked  life  of  thee  and  thou  gavest  it  him, 
even  length  of  days  for  ever  and  ever." — Psalms 
xxi.  4.     (March  ig,  1882.) 

VIII.     The  Gifts  of  God 124 

"  Then  Peter  said,  Silver  and  gold  have  I  none, 
but  such  as  I  have  give  I  unto  thee." — Acts  iii.  6. 
(May  2,  1875.) 

IX.    The  Dispensation  of  the  Spirit     .    .    .     141 

"In  demonstration  of  the  Spirit." — I  CORIN- 
THIANS ii.  4.     (Oct.  14,  1888.) 

X.     The  Glory  of  Simplicity 158 

"  But  let  your  communication  be  Yea,  yea ; 
Nay,  nay :  for  whatsoever  is  more  than  these 
Cometh  of  evil." — Matthew  v.  37.   (Nov.  20,  1887.) 

XI.     The  Little  Sanctuaries  of  Life   .     .     .     176 

"  Thus  saith  the  Lord,  Though  I  have  cast  them 
far  away  among  the  heathen,  and  although  I  have 
scattered  them  among  the  countries,  yet  will  I  be  to 
them  a  little  sanctuary  in  the  countries  where  they 
shall  come." — Ezekiel  xi.  16.     (Sept.  30,  1888.) 

XII.     Storm  and  Calm 193 

"And  there  was  a  great  calm." — Matthew  viii. 
26.     (June  29,  1873.) 

XIII.  The  Blessing  of  the  Lord 213 

"  The  blessing  of  the  Lord,  it  maketh  rich  and 
he  addeth  no  sorrow  with  it." — Proverbs  x.  82, 
(March  23,  1879.) 

XIV.  Joy  and  Sorrow 234 

"  Jesus  therefore  again  groaning  in  himself  cometh 
to  the  grave.  It  was  a  cave,  and  a  stone  lay  upon 
it."— John  xi.  38.    (Sept.  28,  1890.) 


CONTENTS, 


Sermon  Page 

XV.     The  Law  of  the  Spirit  of  Life   .     .     ,     252 

1  ,'  "  For  the  law  of  the  Spirit  of  life  in  Christ  Jesus 

hath  made  me  free  from  the  law  of  sin  and  death." 
— Romans  viii.  2.     (May  17,  1874.) 

XVL     The  Secret  of  the  Lord 271 

"  The  secret  of  the  Lord  is  with  them  that  fear 
Him." — Psalm  xxv.  14.    (April  4,  1875.) 

XVII,     The  Great  Attainment 286 

"  Worthy  to  stand  before  the  Son  of  man." — 
Luke  xxi.  36.     (March  15,  1S85.) 

XVIII.     The  Joy  of  Religion 303 

"  And  as  for  the  prophet  and  the  priest  and  the 
people  that  shall  say,  The  burden  of  the  Lord,'  I 
will  even  punish  that  man  and  his  house.  Thus 
shall  ye  say  every  one  to  his  neighbor  and  every 
one  to  his  brother,  What  hath  the  Lord  an- 
swered ?  and.  What  hath  the  Lord  spoken  ? " — 
Jeremiah  xxiii.  34  and  35.    (Dec.  14,  1884.) 

XIX.     The  Preeminence  of  Christianity  ,    .     320 

"  Then  Simon  Peter  answered  him,  Lord  to 
•whom  shall  we  go?  Thou  hast  the  words  of 
eternal  life." — John  vi.  68.     (Dec.  12,  1875.) 

XX,  The  Mitigation  of  Theology  .  .  .  337 
"  And  Moses  said  unto  him,  As  soon  as  I  am 
gone  out  of  the  city  I  will  spread  abroad  my  hands 
unto  the  Lord  ;  and  the  thunder  shall  cease,  neither 
shall  there  be  any  more  hail,  that  thou  mayest  know 
how  that  the  earth  is  the  Lord's.  But  as  for  thee 
and  thy  servants  I  know  that  ye  will  not  yet  fear 
the  Lord  God."— ExoDUS  ix.  29  and  30.  (Oct. 
87,  1878.) 


THE  WAITING  CITY. 

A  CITY  throned  upon  the  height  behold, 

Wherein  no  foot  of  man  as  yet  has  trod  ; 
The  City  of  Man's  Life  fulfilled  in  God. 

Bathed  all  in  light,  with  open  gates  of  gold, 

Perfect  the  City  is  in  tower  and  street ; 

And  there  a  Palace  for  each  mortal  waits, 
Complete  and  perfect,  at  whose  outer  gates 

An  Angel  stands  its  occupant  to  greet. 

Still  shine,  O  patient  City  on  the  height, 

The  while  our  race  in  hut  and  hovel  dwells. 
It  hears  the  music  of  thy  heavenly  bells 

And  its  dull  soul  is  haunted  by  thy  light. 

Lo,  once  the  Son  of  Man  hath  heard  thy  call 

And  the  dear  Christ  hath  claimed  thee  for  us  all. 

Phillips  Brooks. 
S.  S.  "Pavonia," 

September,  1892, 


NEW  STARTS  IN    LIFE. 


I. 

NEW   STARTS  IN  LIFE. 

"  And  when  he  had  agreed  with  the  laborers  for  a  peany  a  day 
he  sent  them  into  his  vineyard." — Matthew  xx.  2. 

The  parable  from  which  these  words  are  taken  is 
one  of  the  most  complete  in  its  details  of  any  that 
the  Saviour  ever  spoke.  It  covers  a  whole  day,  and 
as  we  read  it  the  whole  course  of  the  day  stands  out 
clear  before  us.  In  the  words  which  I  have  quoted 
we  are  set  at  one  moment  of  the  vivid  story  and  can 
see  exactly  what  is  going  on.  The  master  of  a 
vineyard  having  gone  out  into  the  highways  and 
found  some  workmen  waiting  there  now  stands  at 
his  vineyard  gate  and,  coming  to  an  agreement  with 
each  man  about  the  wages  which  he  will  receive,  he 
sends  each  in  succession  into  the  great  field  where 
the  work  is  waiting.  It  is  a  bright,  fresh  picture. 
Everything  is  sparkling  in  the  morning  hght.  The 
men  all  ready  for  work  stand  waiting.  The  master, 
thoughtful  and  considerate,  stands  talking  with 
them.     Through  the  open  door  we  see  the  vineyard 


2  NEW   STARTS   IN   LIFE. 

with  its  long  rows  of  young  vines.  Here  is  strength 
waiting  for  work.  Here  is  work  waiting  for  strength. 
The  two  are  just  upon  the  point  of  touching  one 
another.  There  is  no  sense  of  exhaustion  any- 
where. Everything  shines  with  vigor  and  hope. 
There  is  no  Hmit  to  the  work  which  we  dream  may 
be  done  before  the  day  is  over.  The  exhilaration  of 
beginning  fills  the  verses. 

A  man  has  faded  out  of  the  real  happiness  and 
strength  of  life  who  does  not  know  what  that  exhila- 
ration is,  who  does  not  feel  the  brightness  of  the 
picture  which  this  verse  draws.  It  is  sad  indeed 
when  any  man  comes  to  that  state  in  which  each 
new  day  does  not  seem  in  some  true  sense  to  begin 
the  world  anew,  recalling  every  departed  hope  and 
brightening  every  faded  color  of  the  night  before. 
There  is  a  human  instinct  which  tells  us  that  our 
life,  while  it  is  meant  to  have  a  great  continuousness 
and  to  be  always  one,  is  no  less  meant  to  be  full  of 
new  starts,  to  be  ever  refreshing  its  forces  and  be- 
ginning once  again.  The  true  proportion  between 
these  two  feelings,  between  the  sense  of  continuity 
and  the  sense  of  ever  new  beginning,  makes  the  fin- 
est, the  freshest,  and  the  primest  life.  We  may 
picture  to  ourselves  two  rivers  of  wholly  different 
kinds.  One  is  a  great,  broad,  quiet  stream,  ever 
moving  swiftly  but  smoothly  on,  unbroken  by  rapids, 
majestic  in  its  calm  and  noble  monotony,  each  mile 
of  its  great  course  seeming  like  every  other  mile,  so 
perfectly  and  evidently  is  it  everywhere  itself.  Its 
great  thought  is  continuity.  The  other  river  is  a 
mountain  torrent.    Broken  and  stopped  perpetually, 


NEW  STARTS  IN  LIFE.  3 

it  is  always  gathering  itself  up  in  a  pool,  at  the  foot 
of  the  rock  that  stopped  it,  for  a  fresh  start.  It  is 
always  full  of  new  beginnings.  It  is  different  in 
each  mile  of  its  course  from  what  it  is  in  every  other 
mile ;  when  it  grows  calm  for  a  moment  it  seems  as 
if  it  had  wholly  stopped,  until  it  finds  an  outlet  and 
plunges  down  another  precipice,  and  with  a  new 
cascade  begins  its  life  again.  Like  the  first  stream, 
like  the  majestic  and  continuous  river,  is  the  life  of 
God.  Continuousness  and  identity  is  our  great 
thought  of  Him.  "  From  everlasting  to  everlasting 
thou  art  God,"  we  cry.  Full  of  movement,  the  im- 
pression of  His  life  is  stillness,  like  the  impression 
of  the  vast  and  solemn  Nile.  But  like  the  mountain 
torrent  is  the  life  of  man.  With  a  true  continuity, 
so  that  it  is  the  same  life  from  its  beginning  to  its 
end,  it  yet  forever  is  refreshing  its  vitality  with  new 
beginnings.  It  loves  to  turn  sharp  corners  into  un- 
seen ways.  It  loves  to  gather  itself  into  knots  and 
then  start  out  with  the  new  birth  of  a  new  resolu- 
tion. It  loves  to  take  into  itself  the  streams  of  new- 
born lives  that  its  monotony  may  be  refreshed  with 
their  freshness.  It  is  wonderful  how  ingenious  men 
will  be  in  making  artificial  new  starts  in  their  lives, 
as  if  at  midday  they  shut  up  the  house  and  lighted 
all  the  lamps  and  made  believe  that  it  was  night, 
only  in  order  that  in  a  moment  they  might  fling  the 
shutters  back  again  as  if  a  new  morning  had  come 
with  its  enthusiasm.  So  all  live  men  covet  the  ex- 
hilaration of  beginning. 

I  want  to  speak  to-day  about  beginnings  or  new 
starts  in  life.     It  is  a  subject  which  the  time  sug- 


4  NEW   STARTS   IN   LIFE. 

gests.  For,  beside  the  aspect  of  perpetual  renewal 
of  which  I  have  been  speaking,  life  here  among  us  in 
the  city  in  these  autumn  days  has  a  peculiar  look  of 
newness  which  belongs  to  the  season  and  the  place. 
For  in  our  city  life  we  have  changed  the  feeling  of  the 
seasons.  The  autumn  is  the  real  spring-time  of  the 
town.  It  is  then  that  the  gray  pastures  of  our  paved 
streets  begin  to  blossom  once  again  with  their  bright 
flowers  of  enterprise  and  fellowship  and  charity. 
And  I  am  speaking  this  morning  to  more  of  the 
spirit  of  expectation,  of  experiment,  of  new  hope  in 
new  circumstances  than  I  should  find  here  at  any 
other  season  of  the  year.  The  schools  have  just 
begun  ;  the  college  boys  have  started  their  new 
year.  The  young  recruits  in  all  the  old  professions 
are  making  the  old  ranks  look  young  again  with  that 
perpetual  youth  which  one  of  the  great  professions 
always  keeps.  In  many  ways  there  is  a  sense  of  stir 
and  start  about  us.  He  must  be  dull  who  does  not 
feel  it.  And  so  I  want  to  speak  about  the  true  dig- 
nity and  beauty  of  beginnings. 

The  essential  power  of  a  new  beginning,  then, 
seems  to  be  very  simple.  It  is  that  it  recalls  and 
freshens  the  principle  and  fundamental  motive  under 
which  a  work  is  done,  and  so  keeps  it  from  degene- 
rating into  mechanical  routine.  When  the  stream 
starts  over  a  new  fall  it  cannot  help  being  conscious 
anew  of  its  own  fluidness  and  of  the  force  of  gravita- 
tion. It  is  the  renewed  sense  of  these  things,  of 
what  it  is  and  of  what  a  great  power  is  at  work  upon 
it,  that  sparkles  in  it  and  fills  it  full  of  life  as  it  begins 
its  new  career,  which  is  simply  the  old  career  with 


NEW   STARTS   IN   LIFE.  5 

its  fundamental  consciousness  freshened  and  revived. 
And  so  when  a  man  starts  afresh,  either  with  the 
newness  of  a  new  day,  or  with  the  stimulus  of  altered 
circumstances,  or  with  the  inspiration  of  a  new  work, 
what  his  new  start  ought  to  do  for  him  is  to  refresh 
the  deepest  principles  by  which  he  lives.  You  feel 
the  engine  when  the  steamer  starts.  After  that 
when  the  steamer  is  on  its  long  monotonous  voyage 
you  feel  as  if  the  machinery  moved  itself.  So  in  a 
new  beginning  men  ought  to  feel,  and  in  some  way 
more  or  less  real  and  clear  they  do  feel,  what  they 
are  and  what  great  powers  are  at  work  upon  them, 
as  they  do  not  ordinarily  feel  these  things  in  com- 
mon times. 

Let  us  keep  all  this  in  our  mind  as  we  come  back 
and  stand  in  the  bright  morning  light  which  floods 
the  vineyard  gate  where  the  laborers  of  the  parable 
are  just  beginning  their  day's  work.  "  When  the 
householder  had  agreed  with  them  for  a  penny  a 
day,  he  sent  them  into  his  vineyard."  In  that 
verse,  taken  as  the  story  of  the  way  in  which  human 
life  as  a  whole  and  also  of  the  way  in  which  any 
special  department  or  enterprise  of  human  life  be- 
gins, there  are  two  ideas — which  we  may  examine 
and  develop  in  succession.  One  of  them  is  the  idea 
of  mission.  The  other  is  the  idea  of  wages.  First 
the  master  of  the  vineyard  sends  the  men  to  do 
their  work,  and  second  he  agrees  with  them  for  ' '  a 
penny  a  day."  We  will  look  at  these  two  ideas  in 
relation  to  the  great  new  starts  or  beginnings  that 
come  in  every  full  human  life. 

I.  First  the  idea  of  mission.     "  He  sent  them  in 


6  NEW   STARTS  IN  LIFE. 

his  vineyard. "  "  He,"  in  the  parable,  means  God 
in  human  life.  See  what  a  personaHty  steps  at  once 
into  the  story  and  see  how,  when  it  once  is  there,  it 
cannot  be  left  out  again.  The  whole  story  lives  and 
moves  and  has  its  being  in  that  central  person,  by 
whose  sending  the  laborers  start  out  on  their  day's 
work.  Suppose  at  first  that  you  did  not  see  the 
householder.  Suppose  you  only  saw  a  host  of  work- 
men with  their  tools  streaming  in  through  an  open 
vineyard  gate.  "  What  are  they  going  for  ?  "  you 
say.  The  answer  must  be  one  of  two.  Either  it  is 
the  mere  pleasure  of  the  exercise  they  love,  as  when 
a  company  of  boys  go  hurrying  to  a  fruitless,  profit- 
less game  of  ball,  for  the  pure  pleasure  of  the  game, 
or  else  it  is  the  desire  for  something  that  they  are  to 
get,  some  profits,  some  reward  that  lies  waiting  for 
them  in  the  vineyard.  Both  of  these  are  conceiv- 
able, both  are  legitimate  motives.  And  motives 
which  correspond  to  both  of  them  come  in  legiti- 
mately at  every  beginning  in  our  lives.  Any  new 
undertaking  of  ours  may  properly  be  inspired  by  the 
pleasure  which  we  find  in  its  execution  and  by  the 
advantage  which  it  will  bring  to  us  when  it  is  fin- 
ished. But  now  put  in  the  householder.  Set  him 
in  your  picture  beside  the  vineyard  gate.  Make 
every  laborer  who  passes  in  pass  under  his  inspec- 
tion, go  in  by  his  commission,  and  then  have  you 
not  put  another  motive  in  which  does  not  exclude 
the  others  but  surrounds  and  comprehends  them  ? 
Now  you  ask  any  laborer  why  he  is  there,  and  point- 
ing back  to  the  master  at  the  gate,  he  says,  "  He 
sent  me."     No  matter  how  much  any  laborer  might 


NEW   STARTS   IN   LIFE.  J 

rove  the  work  or  want  the  profits,  he  would  have 
no  right  to  be  there  unless  the  householder  had  sent 
him  in.  Do  you  not  see  the  parable  ?  Whenever 
any  man  believes  that  God  has  given  him  a  work  to 
do  that  belief  becomes  the  great  motive  of  his  labor. 
It  does  not  exclude  the  others,  but  it  overshadows 
and,  as  it  were,  includes  them.  Still  the  man  may 
find  the  work  delightful  and  may  expect  from  it  a 
great  result,  but  when  you  ask  him  why  he  does  it, 
he  rises  from  his  happy  toil  and  points  back  to  where 
God  stands  beside  the  gate  and  says,  "  He  sent  me." 
However  he  might  love  the  work,  whatever  advan- 
tage he  might  look  for  from  it,  he  would  have  no 
right  to  be  doing  it  if  God  had  not  sent  him. 

Every  work  ought  to  begin  simply  and  with  one 
clear  simple  motive.  It  is  not  pleasant  to  hear  the 
beginner  in  any  work  talk  too  far-looking  talk,  an- 
ticipate the  gain  that  lies  for  him  far  away  when  his 
work  shall  have  been  successful.  Prophecies  are  too 
doubtful,  and  this  anticipative  spirit  is  too  apt  to  be 
discouraged.  Some  cloud  comes  between  the  be- 
ginner and  his  vision  of  the  end,  and  his  impulse  is 
all  gone.  Nor  is  it  pleasant  to  hear  the  new  worker 
congratulating  himself  that  his  work  is  pleasant,  that 
he  loves  it,  and  trusting  to  that  love  for  his  energy 
and  his  persistence.  There  will  surely  come  times 
when  the  love  will  grow  dull,  when  the  enthusiasm 
will  flicker.  What  then  ?  There  must  be  some 
authority  that  impels  as  well  as  some  attraction 
that  invites.  Not  merely  a  bright  vineyard  but  a 
majestic  master  of  the  vineyard  there  must  be. 
All  serious  men  have  craved  a  master  as  well  as  a 


8  NEW  STARTS  IN   LIFE. 

task.  Some  workers  call  their  master  duty.  Others 
wiser  and  devouter  call  him  "God,"  but  all  have 
done  their  best  work  only  when  they  were  not 
merely  called  by  the  thing  that  was  to  be  done 
but  sent  by  him  for  whom  they  were  to  do  it.  It 
is  like  the  going  of  the  arrow  out  of  the  bow.  The 
starting  arrow  is  only  conscious  of  the  string,  not 
yet  has  it  any  perception  of  the  target.  You  ques- 
tion it  as  it  goes  flying  past  you,  and  ask  it  why 
it  takes  that  track,  and  its  reply  is  not  "  Because 
the  target  stands  this  way,"  but  "  Because  this 
way  the  bow-string  sent  me."  It  is  only  in  going 
where  the  bow-string  sent  it  that  the  arrow  finds 
first  the  joy  of  the  rushing  air  and  then  at  last  the 
satisfaction  as  it  buries  itself  into  the  very  centre  of 
the  target. 

"  Like  arrows  in  the  hand  of  a  giant  so  are  the 
young  children,"  says  the  Psalm.  The  child's  life 
is  marked  by  this,  that  it  is  conscious  of  impulse  far 
more  than  of  aim.  It  does  all  that  it  does  because 
its  father  sent  it,  not  because  the  essential  attrac- 
tiveness of  the  task  invited  it.  If  the  task's  attrac- 
tiveness is  felt  it  is  as  an  accidental  pleasure,  not  as 
the  main  motive.  The  main  motive  is  the  Father's 
will.  And  in  God's  family  we  are  all  children  always. 
We  are  God's  arrows.  Not  because  the  end  attracts 
us,  but  because  He  says  to  us  "  Go  "  must  be  the 
main  motive  for  our  going.  This  is  so  clear  in  the 
life  of  Jesus,  the  perfect  Son  of  God.  No  man  ever 
felt  as  He  felt  the  essential  joy  of  holy  work.  No 
man  ever  saw  as  He  saw  the  glorious  fruits  of  holiness. 
And  yet  it  was  not  for  these  at  last  that  He  always 


NEW  STARTS  IN  LIFE.  9 

said  that  He  was  holy.  The  last,  the  deepest,  and 
the  strongest  reason  was  that  his  Father  sent  Him. 
"  I  came  down  from  heaven  not  to  do  mine  own 
will  but  the  will  of  Him  that  sent  me."  Those  are 
the  key  words  of  His  life.  And  these  words  do  not 
necessarily  mean,  I  beg  you  to  observe,  that  his  will 
was  contrary  to  the  will  of  Him  who  sent  him. 
They  apply  even  when  the  wills  are  just  the  same. 
Then  it  meant  everything  to  Jesus  that  the  action 
which  he  did,  though  outwardly  it  would  have  been 
just  the  same  act  in  either  case,  was  done  not  be- 
cause he  wanted  to  do  it,  though  he  did,  but  because 
his  Father  wanted  him  to  do  it.  "  Father,  not  my 
will  but  thine  be  done,"  Jesus  was  always  saying 
even  when  there  was  no  difference  in  what  the  two 
wills  separately  would  have  chosen.  In  that  word 
"  Father  "  lies  the  commission  of  his  life.  Only  to 
a  father  would  one  have  a  right  to  say  that,  but  when 
one  once  knew  God  to  be  his  father  there  could  be  no 
other  real  completion  of  his  life,  no  other  crowning 
and  filling  of  it  with  its  consummate  motive. 

I  am  afraid  this  looks  to  some  of  you  like  foolish 
subtlety,  but,  indeed,  my  friends,  it  is  not  so.  Let 
me  try  to  apply  it  more  closely  and  show  how  prac- 
tical it  is.  I  said  that  there  were  certain  different 
beginnings  in  men's  lives  to  which  the  parable  of 
our  text  might  be  applied.  In  every  full  life,  in  the 
life  of  every  man  who  goes  through  the  whole  circle 
of  what  a  man  ought  to  be,  there  must  be  at  least 
three  such  beginnings  or  new  starts,  and  to  each  of 
those  three  we  may  apply  what  I  have  just  been  say- 
ing.    These  three  beginnings  are:  i.  Youth,  or  the 


lO  NEW   STARTS   IN   LIFE. 

start  of  the  physical  life.  2.  The  choice  of  occupa- 
tion or  the  deliberate  selection  of  one's  work;  and 
3.  Religious  consecration  or  the  entrance  of  the  soul 
in  its  deeper  life  with  God.  No  man  lives  com- 
pletely who  does  not  at  least  start  in  each  of  these 
three  roads.  O,  think  of  it,  you  to  whom  only  the 
first  beginning  has  any  recognizable  reality.  You 
who  were  born,  but  who  have  never  entered  upon 
any  work  upon  the  earth  and  who  have  known  noth- 
ing whatever  of  that  deeper  birth  in  which  the  spirit 
takes  up  a  willing  loyalty  to  God.  This  is  the  meas- 
ure of  your  wretched  incompleteness.  Judged  by  the 
standard  of  the  completest  human  being,  does  it  not 
seem  as  if  you  were  really  nearer  to  the  brutes  than 
to  Him.  For  you  have  entered  upon  only  the  first 
and  lowest  of  careers,  and  even  for  that  it  may  be, 
as  we  shall  see,  that  you  have  not  begun  to  conceive 
the  true  motive  which  gives  it  its  real  value. 

Take  the  mere  physical  beginning.  How  beauti- 
ful it  is!  It  is  not  confined  to  any  one  moment 
when  the  new-born  being  first  catches  with  a  gasp 
our  earthly  air.  It  runs  through  all  those  bright  and 
happy  years  which  we  call  youth,  the  years  in  which 
the,  physical  life  is  always  coming  to  some  new  rela- 
tion to  the  earth  where  it  has  freshly  come.  Youth 
is  but  one  long  birth.  The  leaping  of  new  tastes, 
the  timid  trying  of  new  skills,  the  ripening  of  the 
senses  in  answer  to  the  skies  they  see  and  the  world 
full  of  melody  which  they  are  ever  hearing.  Youth 
is  one  long  bright  being  born — one  rich  and  gradual 
beginning.  And  what  shall  be  its  consciousness,  its 
great  prevailing  feeling  about  this  life  that  lies  be- 


NEW   STARTS   IN   LIFE.  II 

fore  it  ?  O  my  young  friends,  the  world  is  beautiful 
and  every  breath  of  your  young  life  is  happiness. 
You  have  a  full  right  to  feel  that !  And  life  is  full  of 
promise.  There  are  great  prizes  to  be  gained  in  this 
great  world  with  which  your  relations  grow  com- 
pleter every  day.  But  those  are  not  all.  These  two 
are  like  two  flowers  which  need  a  stem  to  hold  them 
and  to  give  them  life.  If  they  have  no  stem  and  try 
to  live  alone,  they  are  doomed  to  wither.  The  stem 
must  be  the  consciousness  of  God,  God  as  the  sender 
and  the  source  of  life.  The  instant  that  conscious- 
ness stands  up  firm  and  complete  everything  else 
takes  its  true  place  and  value.  The  beauty  of  the 
flowers  means  something  when  they  hang  upon  the 
stem.  It  means  seed  and  endless  perpetuity  of 
growth.  A  young  man  to  whom  life  stretching  out 
before  him  is  not  merely  something  which  attracts 
him  for  himself  but  something  to  which  God  has 
sent  him  with  a  commission  to  live  peculiarly  his 
own,  to  him  youth  gets  its  full  glory.  His  spirit,  as 
he  gazes  forth  into  the  future,  is  full  at  once  of  hu- 
mility and  hope.  Into  his  beginning  work  there 
comes  a  noble  union  of  energy  and  repose.  Respon- 
sibility becomes  to  him  an  inspiration,  not  a  weight. 
There  is  an  utter  absence  of  frivolity,  a  perfect  seri- 
ousness, and  at  the  same  time  an  absolute  buoyancy 
and  joy.  Is  not  that  what  we  all  want  to  see  in 
youth  as  its  chief  glory.  There  is  a  youth  which 
sets  forth  on  the  sea  of  life  as  a  pleasure  yacht  sails 
from  her  moorings  on  a  summer  morning.  All  is 
gay  and  bright  and  trifling,  all  is  light  and  laughter. 
She  sails  because  the  wind  is  fair  and  the  sea  smooth. 


12  NEW  STARTS  IN  LIFE. 

No  one  bids  her  go  and  there  is  no  port  for  her  to 
seek.  There  is  another  youth  whose  start  is  hke  the 
sailing  of  a  great  deep-freighted  ship.  There  is  no 
less  joy  and  exhilaration,  but  there  is  no  laughter. 
Faces  are  serious.  Still  the  sweet  freshness  in  the 
breeze,  the  sunlight  on  the  water,  bring  their  influ- 
ence of  happiness,  but  there  is  so  much  underneath. 
This  ship  is  sent.  Great  interests  are  embarked  in 
her.  She  is  freighted  with  sacred  hopes.  And  so 
she  sails  forth  in  the  silence  of  a  joy  that  does  not 
break  out  in  chattering  talk.  Such  is  the  sacred  joy 
that  fills  a  child's,  a  young  man's,  or  young  woman's 
life  to  whom  the  simplest  and  greatest  of  all  truths 
has  come,  that  they  are  going  forth  into  life  sent  by 
God.  That  just  as  truly  as  He  sent  Moses,  David, 
Paul,  Luther,  God  has  sent  them  into  life  out  of 
His  own  great  hand.  O  parents,  what  a  task  and 
privilege  is  yours — to  make  God  so  real  to  your  chil- 
dren's life  that  they  shall  know  that  He  did  send 
them  ;  and  so  to  make  God  great  and  true  and 
sweet  and  good  to  your  children's  first  thoughts  of 
Him,  that  they  shall  rejoice  and  triumph  in  the 
knowledge  that  they  are  sent  by  such  a  God  as 
He  is. 

n.  The  second  beginning  which  I  spoke  of  was  the 
start  of  a  new  occupation,  the  deliberate  entrance  by 
a  young  man  upon  what  is  to  be  the  profession  of 
his  life.  With  regard  to  that  time  I  think  that  all 
of  us  who  have  seen  many  men  will  bear  witness  that 
it  is  just  there  that  very  many  men  grow  narrow, 
and,  from  being  broad  in  sympathies,  large,  generous, 
humane,  before,  even  in  all  the  crudity  of  their  boy- 


NEW   STARTS  IN  LIFE.  1 3 

hood,  the  moment  of  the  choice  of  their  profession 
seems  to  make  them  Hmited  and  special,  shuts  them 
up  between  narrow  walls,  makes  them  uninteresting 
to  all  the  world  outside  their  little  work,  and  makes 
all  the  world  outside  their  little  work  uninteresting 
to  them.  It  is  not  strange.  The  works  that  men 
must  do  to  live  become  more  and  more  special  and 
absorbing.  Anybody  who  thinks  about  it  sees  that 
the  escape  must  be  not  in  the  worker  refusing  to  do 
one  work  and  undertaking  to  do  all  things.  It  must 
be  in  his  doing  his  one  thing  in  a  larger  spirit. 
Where  shall  that  larger  spirit  come  from  ?  The  spirit 
of  an  act  comes  from  its  motive.  There  must  be  a 
larger  motive  then.  And  the  largest  of  all  motives 
is  the  sending  of  God,  the  commission  of  Him  who 
is  the  Father  of  us  all.  When  the  young  lawyer 
dares  to  believe  beyond  the  pleasure  which  he  finds 
in  the  practice  of  the  law,  beyond  the  fortune  or  the 
fame  that  he  hopes  to  make  out  of  it,  that  God  sent 
him  there,  that  the  fitness  for  it  which  he  has  found 
in  his  character  and  circumstances  is  something  more 
than  a  lucky  accident,  is  a  true  sign  of  the  inten- 
tion concerning  him  of  the  dear,  wise  God  ;  when  a 
young  lawyer  dares  to  believe  this,  two  great  bless- 
ings come  to  him  out  of  so  high  a  faith :  first  he  is 
armed  against  the  lower  temptations  of  his  profes- 
sion, and  second,  he  is  kept  in  cordial  sympathy 
with  all  other  children  of  God  who  are  trying  to  find 
and  follow  the  same  Father's  intentions  concerning 
them,  though  in  works  utterly  different  from  his. 
The  true  salvation  from  the  sordidness  and  narrow- 
ness of  professional  life  comes  only  with  a  profound 


14  NEW   STARTS   IN   LIFE. 

faith  that  God  sent  us  to  be  the  thing  we  are,  to  do 
the  work  that  we  are  doing. 

III.  And  then  with  regard  to  the  third  great  begin- 
ning which  comes  in  every  man's  Hfe  who  hves  com- 
pletely, the  beginning  of  conscious  religion,  of  the 
deliberate  consecration  to  God  and  culture  of  the 
soul.  It  begins  in  every  kind  of  way,  suddenly  with 
one  man,  gradually  with  another.  With  one  man 
like  the  swift  illumination  of  a  flash  of  lightning, 
with  another  man  like  the  slow  brightening  of  the 
dawn ;  but  to  all  men  who  come  to  their  full  life  it 
surely  comes  by  that  unchangeable  necessity  which 
is  in  the  words  of  Jesus,  "  Except  a  man  be  born 
again  he  cannot  see  the  kingdom  of  God  "  ;  and  no 
man  truly  lives  who  does  not  see  that  kingdom. 
But  of  this  deeper  life,  the  life  of  spiritual  struggle, 
of  prayer,  of  search  after  divine  communion,  the  life 
that  sacrifices  the  body  for  the  soul,  that  hopes  for 
heaven  and  overcomes  the  world  by  faith,  of  this 
life  so  misty  and  vague  to  many  men,  so  much  realler 
than  all  realities  besides  to  every  man  who  lives  it, 
what  is  the  motive  power  ?  why  do  the  best  souls 
undertake  it  ?  The  simplest  answer  is  the  truest,  I 
believe.  Because  God  calls  them  into  it.  Ask  me 
why  I  am  a  Christian,  and  I  may  say,  "  Because  the 
Christian  life  is  satisfactory  and  full  of  daily  sweet- 
ness," or  I  may  say,  "  Because  in  the  certain  dis- 
tance hangs  the  prize  of  everlasting  life."  Both 
are  good  answers.  But  suppose  I  say,  "  Because 
God  bade  me  be."  That  is  a  better  answer.  It  in- 
cludes both  the  others.  The  soul  that  makes  it  is 
sure  of  happiness  and  reward  not  by  its  own  direct 


NEW   STARTS  IN  LIFE.  1 5 

perception  of  them  but  because  they  are  involved  in 
the  very  nature  of  God,  in  obedience  to  whose  au. 
thority  it  gives  itself  to  Him.  It  makes  the  persist- 
ence of  the  Christian  life  depend  not  on  the  constancy 
of  our  emotions  but  on  the  unremitting  sense  of  the 
Divine  authority.  The  best  and  noblest  Christians, 
I  am  sure,  have  always  most  loved  to  give  this  sim- 
plest account  of  their  experience.  "  Why  are  you 
in  the  vineyard  ?  "  "  Because  He  sent  me,"  that  is 
all.  Afterward  the  perception  of  the  sweetness  of 
the  work,  but  first  of  all  because  He  sent  me.  O 
my  young  friends  to  whom  the  soul's  life  with  its 
vast  hopes  and  mysterious  joys  is  just  opening,  I 
beg  you  to  set  at  the  gate  through  which  you  enter 
into  it  the  simple  authority  of  your  master.  Come 
to  your  Lord  because  He  calls  you.  As  John  and 
James  came  off  the  lake  where  they  were  fishing;  as 
Matthew  came  out  of  the  shop  where  he  was  gather- 
ing taxes  ;  for  only  to  the  soul  that  first  gives  itself 
to  Him  in  unquestioning  obedience  can  Christ  give 
himself  in  unhindered  love. 

I  must  pass  on  to  say  a  few  words  on  what  we  saw 
to  be  the  second  point  suggested  in  our  text,  namely, 
the  wages  which  were  promised  to  those  whom  the 
master  sent  into  his  vineyard.  "  When  he  had 
agreed  with  them  for  a  penny  a  day  he  sent  them 
into  his  vineyard. "  The  first  thing  that  strikes  us 
is  that  there  should  be  any  wages.  It  is  that  truth 
of  covenant,  that  picture  of  a  bargain  between  God 
and  man  which  runs  through  all  the  Bible,  and  has 
often  given  much  trouble  to  very  spiritual  and  un- 


l6  NEW  STARTS  IN  LIFE. 

selfish  hearts.  "  Can  I  not  give  myself  to  God  and 
God  promise  me  nothing  ?  Must  I  have  a  promise 
of  advantage  to  myself,  to  watch  every  consecration 
of  myself  to  Him  whom  I  love  better  than  my  life  ? 
Is  not  the  *  penny  a  day  '  an  intrusion  and  offence 
coming  in  between  me  and  my  Lord?"  Such 
thoughts  have  come  to  many  minds.  I  know  but 
one  answer.  The  master  owes  something  to  himself 
as  well  as  to  his  laborers.  He  owes  it  to  himself  to 
recognize  the  service  that  they  give  him.  Not  even 
from  the  child  will  the  father  take  a  wholly  unac- 
knowledged duty.  The  "  penny  a  day  "  is  wages, 
but  it  is  wages  raised  to  its  highest  power  in  love. 
It  is  valuable  not  for  itself  alone,  but  as  the  token  of 
the  master's  recognition  of  the  service.  In  other 
words,  I  think  we  have  the  perpetual  recurrence 
of  the  covenant  idea  all  through  the  Bible  until  some- 
thing of  it  appears  even  in  the  mystery  of  the  Atone- 
ment, and  the  precious  sacrifice  of  Calvary  is  called 
the  "  Blood  of  the  Everlasting  Covenant  "  ;  we  have 
in  all  this  not  a  degradation  of  the  spiritual  relations 
to  a  commercial  sordidness,  we  have  rather  an  exal- 
tation of  the  essential  idea  of  commerce,  an  assertion 
of  the  invariable  and  beautiful  reciprocity  which  runs 
through  all  the  universe;  a  declaration  that  right- 
eousness and  justice,  the  return  of  like  for  like,  is 
not  an  arbitrary  arrangement,  which  can  be  tam- 
pered with  or  repealed,  but  is  in  the  very  nature  of 
all  things  and  beings  because  it  is  in  the  nature  of 
Him  from  whom  all  things  and  beings  come. 

And  then,  if  the  idea  of  wages  need  not  trouble 
us,  see  what  the  special  wages  are  which  the  Lord 


NEW   STARTS  IN   LIFE.  1/ 

offers.  He  agreed  with  them  for  a  penny  a  day. 
It  was  no  outright  gift,  given  in  bulk,  one  large, 
round  sum  with  which  He  fastened  their  allegiance. 
It  was  to  be  a  daily  payment.  Evening  by  evening 
they  were  to  come  to  him,  and  only  gradually 
should  the  money  accumulate  and  grow  large  in 
their  hands.  What  picture  could  more  truly  show 
the  way  in  which  the  Lord  gives  His  rewards  to  all 
His  servants  ?  What  could  more  truly  set  before  us 
all  the  kind  of  promise  which  He  makes  us  as  we 
begin  our  life,  or  our  profession,  or  our  soul's  expe- 
rience at  His  command!  Not  in  one  complete  gift 
is  physical  life  bestowed  on  any  child.  "  A  penny 
a  day  "  is  the  promise  which  is  fulfilled  in  the  slow 
development  of  the  vital  powers  which  goes  on  all 
through  the  infancy  and  early  years.  Not  all  at 
once  are  the  fruits  of  a  new  career  or  profession  put 
into  the  eager  hands  of  the  young  aspirant.  "  A 
penny  a  day  "  comes  scholarship  to  the  scholar, 
power  to  the  statesman,  wealth  to  the  merchant. 
Not  all  at  once  does  the  new  Christian  win  the  com- 
pleteness of  his  Saviour's  grace.  "  A  penny  a 
day  "  !  "A  penny  a  day  "  !  so  only  does  the  soul 
grow  rich,  so  only  are  truthfulness,  courage,  humil- 
ity, patience,  love,  faithfulness  given  to  the  soul  and 
made  its  own.  Surely  it  is  a  kind  warning  of  the 
master  at  the  open  gate.  He  will  not  have  us  disap- 
pointed. O,  hear  His  warning,  you  who  are  taking 
any  of  His  invitations.  You  cannot  take  it  all  at 
once.  Even  to  His  Incarnate  Son  God  gave  life  in 
slow  development.  What  wonder  if  to  us  it  comes 
with  a  slowness  that  makes  us  often  despair;  and 


l8  NEW   STARTS   IN   LIFE. 

yet  when  it  does  come  completely  we  shall  know 
that  except  as  it  was  thus  slowly  given  it  never  could 
have  been  made  really  ours  at  all. 

There  is  a  reason  for  this  method  of  God's  gifts 
which  we  soon  learn  to  know.  It  lies  in  two  truths. 
The  first  is  that  the  very  nature  of  the  soul  itself 
requires  it.  The  soul  appropriates  slowly.  A  tor- 
rent drowns  the  soil  which  a  rain  would  make  fertile. 
There  is  such  a  thing  as  a  soul  gorged  with  blessing 
and  not  fed. 

And  the  other  reason  is  still  truer  and  deeper. 
The  object  of  God's  giving  us  any  gift  is  not  that 
we  may  possess  the  gift,  but  that  through  the  pos- 
session of  the  gift  we  may  possess  Him.  The  gift  is 
a  pledge  to  assure  us  of  His  presence  and  His  love. 
God's  gifts  are  given  to  us  not  like  robes  to  clothe 
us  in.  The  only  robe  in  which  we  can  be  clothed  is 
He  Himself,  His  righteousness  made  truly  ours  not 
in  an  unreal,  artificial  sense,  but  really,  truly.  The 
gifts  He  gives  us  are  the  clasps  that  hold  the  robe 
about  us — not  the  robe.  Therefore  it  is  that  they 
are  given  only  as  they  are  required.  Not  once  for 
all,  so  that  we  might  take  them  on  our  shoulders  and 
go  away  and  forget  the  Giver,  but  day  by  day,  so 
that  each  day  the  day's  gift  might  make  the  giver 
real  and  so  all  life  be  filled  with  Him. 

I  have  spoken  mainlv  to  the  young  to-day.  At 
least,  they  have  been  mostly  in  my  mind  as  I  have 
spoken.  To  them  the  exhilaration  of  beginning  is  an 
ever-present  consciousness.  Thank  God  life  may  be 
always  so  full  of  new  beginnings  that  it  never  need 


NEW   STARTS   IN   LIFE.  I9 

be  stale  to  any  of  us.  And  before  us  all  there  always 
is  the  great  beginning  of  the  everlasting  life  to  keep 
us  always  young.  Aye,  even  to  make  us  count  our- 
selves as  babes  unborn.  But  to  the  young  the  sense 
of  starting  is  the  great  prevailing  sense  of  life.  I 
wish  that  something  I  have  said  to-day  might  make 
you  feel  how  noble  and  rich  the  opening  of  any  life 
becomes  when  at  the  very  gate  it  comes  to  agree- 
ment with  God.  It  is  a  beautiful  moment  when 
with  life  before  you,  with  your  work  before  you, 
with  your  soul's  salvation  before  you,  you  stand  first 
with  Him  beside  the  gate  and  let  Him,  when  He  has 
agreed  with  you  for  a  penny  a  day,  send  you  into 
His  vineyard.  I  dare  to  think  that  some  of  you  are 
standing  there  with  Him  now  ;  that  while  I  speak  it 
is  that  moment,  awful  and  glorious  for  some  of  you, 
in  which,  while  those  who  sit  beside  you  in  the  pew 
cannot  guess  at  what  is  passing,  you  are  giving 
yourself  to  Him  and  taking  Him  to  be  yours  for  all 
your  life.  If  it  is  so,  may  He  make  the  consecration 
perfect  and  keep  you  always  faithful  with  His  great 
surrounding  love  ! 


vv^"" 


II. 

THE  TARES  AND  THE  WHEAT. 

"  But  he  said,  '  Nay  ;  lest  while  ye  gather  up  the  tares,  ye  root  up 
also  the  wheat  with  them.  Let  both  grow  together  until  the  har- 
vest.' " — Matthew  xiii.  29. 

No  parable  of  Jesus  more  than  the  Parable  of  the 
Tares  gives  us  His  general  view  of  human  life.  In  it 
the  everlasting  problems  lie  in  the  sunshine  of  His 
celestial  wisdom.  Just  think  what  there  is  in  it. 
First,  the  ownership  of  the  field,  that  which  lies 
behind  and  surrounds  and  pervades  all  of  Christ's 
thought  and  teaching,  the  fact  that  everything  be- 
longs to  God,  exists  in  Him,  and  nothing  can  take 
place  outside  of  His  Fatherhood.  That  is  always 
the  great  elemental  truth  to  Jesus.  You  lose  the 
key  and  soul  of  all  His  teaching  if  you  lose  that. 
Then  comes  the  sowing  of  the  seed.  Then  the  ene- 
my's interference,  the  sowing  of  the  tares.  The 
actual  condition  of  the  world  is  reached — evil  and 
good,  good  and  evil,  mingled  and  confused  together. 
And  then  the  appeal  of  the  servants  to  the  master, 
"Wilt  thou  that  we  go  and  gather  them  up?" 
How  natural  that  is!  How  instantly -<'•,  recognize 
this  quick  impatience  to  get  rid  of  the  evil  of  the 

20 


THE   TARES   AND   THE   WHEAT.  21 

world  instantly.  We  cannot  think  that  the  master 
looked  at  his  eager  servants  disapprovingly,  although 
he  could  not  let  them  do  what  they  wanted  to  do. 
The  man  who  never  wanted  it  would  be  but  a  poor 
kind  of  man.  He  whose  heart  has  never  burned 
within  him  to  do  one  great  thing  which  should  break 
the  chain  which  binds  the  world's  sin  to  the  world, 
and  let  the  great  black  mass  fall  into  the  bottomless 
pit  forever;  he  who  has  never  longed  for  one  sublime 
and  final  act  of  self-sacrifice  which  might  unravel  the 
twisted  cords  of  evil  in  his  own  soul  and  set  it  free ; 
he  who  has  never  known  these  great  desires  has  lived 
but  a  meagre  life.  There  are  times  when  it  all  seems 
so  possible,  so  easy.  Wilt  thou  that  we  go  and 
gather  them  up  ?  We  feel  a  certain  chivalrous  spirit 
in  the  words.  It  is  the  young  knight's  confidence 
in  his  good  cause  and  his  strong  arm.  It  is  the 
grasp  of  the  victory  before  the  first  sword-stroke  has 
been  given.  Let  us  ride  out  this  bright  morning  and 
settle  this  troublesome  business  once  for  all. 

Christ  loves  that  spirit  we  must  certainly  believe. 
When  He  puts  out  His  hand  in  hindrance  and  says 
No!  it  is  not  that  He  is  displeased.  "  Nay,"  He 
says,  "  it  may  not  be,"  but  yet  He  blesses  and  ap- 
proves the  men  who  want  to  do  it.  And  then  He 
proceeds  to  teach  these  men  how  much  more  diffi- 
cult and  deeper  is  the  task  than  they  thought,  and 
to  claim  their  enthusiasm  for  the  harder  duty  of 
patience  and  delay. 

How  had  Christ  learned  the  world's  wickedness 
and  the  inveteracy  of  its  sin  ?  We  talk  about  the 
need  of  experience.     You  shake  your  head  over  the 


22  THE  TARES  AND  THE  WHEAT. 

innocent  man,  who  has  kept  his  life  pure  and  bright, 
and  you  say,  "  O,  if  he  knew  as  I  know  how  bad 
life  is,  what  men  are  doing  in  the  vile  places  of  the 
earth."  The  eager  revivalist,  hungry  for  men's 
souls,  wanting  to  make  men  understand  that  he 
knows  whereof  he  speaks,  abounds  in  hints  and  sug- 
gestions of  the  depths  of  vileness  out  of  which  he 
has  come  to  Christ  and  pardon.  Where  did  Christ 
learn  the  awfulness  of  sin  ?  It  came  to  Him  out  of 
His  knowledge  of  the  human  heart  and  out  of  His 
infinite  pity  for  the  men  whom  sin  was  cursing  with 
its  power.  Can  you  not  imagine  that  a  thoughtful 
man  looking  at  a  steam-engine  and  seeing  its  enor- 
mous power  might  picture  to  himself,  though  he 
had  never  seen  it,  the  fearful  havoc  which  that 
strength  must  make  when  in  the  midst  of  storm  and 
darkness  it  should  go  plunging  from  the  track  and 
hurl  itself  down  the  embankment  ?  And  can  you 
not  imagine  that  the  very  sense  in  which  His  own 
perfectness  of  what  a  perfect  man  might  be  must 
have  made  Jesus  feel  the  dreadfulness  of  everything 
which  hindered  that  perfection  as  no  other  human 
being  ever  has,  because  no  other  human  being  ever 
has  been  perfect  ?  These  are  the  elements  of  Christ's 
knowledge  of  sin.  This  kind  of  knowledge  of  the 
world's  wickedness  must  be  ever  deeper  and  deeper 
in  every  Christ-like  man,  for  it  depends  not  on  how 
wicked  the  man  has  been  himself,  but  on  how  pure 
he  is  and  how  deeply  he  longs  for  the  goodness  of 
his  fellow-man. 

However  it  has  come  about  there  is  in  Christ  the 
y   deepest  knowledge  of  the  sin  of  man.     I  do  not 


THE   TARES  AND   THE   WHEAT.  23 

know  that  anybody  ever  doubted  that.  I  do  not 
know  that  among  all  the  strange  things  which  have 
been  said  and  written  about  Christ,  anybody  has 
been  ever  moved  to  portray  Him  as  an  amiable 
optimist  who  thought  the  world  was  perfect  and 
never  caught  sight  of  those  abysses  of  iniquity  with 
which  the  history  of  mankind  and  of  the  single  soul 
is  rent  and  torn.  If  that  had  been  the  impression 
which  He  made  upon  the  world  He  never  could 
have  been  the  world's  Saviour.  What  would  the 
souls  of  men  have  had  to  do  with  Him,  if,  when 
they  came  up  to  Him,  they  had  seen  nothing  deeper 
in  His  face  than  mere  complacency  ?  How  they 
would  have  turned  away  from  Him.  "  Let  easy 
innocence  find  comfort  in  His  presence.  He  can  be 
no  Saviour  for  our  souls,"  men  would  have  said. 
There  would  have  been  a  strange  feeling  of  respect 
which  could  hardly  have  kept  clear  of  suspicion  as 
they  saw  His  unsympathetic  presence  move  among 
them.  Can  you  not  almost  see  the  scene  in  Jerusa- 
lem, when  this  man,  perfectly  sinless,  and  perfectly 
unaware  of  sin,  walked  through  the  crowds,  in  the 
temple,  on  the  streets.  I  can  see  men  rebuked  by 
Him,  hiding  their  faces  from  Him,  I  can  almost 
picture  a  strong  young  man  hurrying  away  from  the 
sight  of  Him  to  suicide,  smitten  to  the  heart  with 
the  horror  of  his  deed  of  sin.  I  can  see  pride  paling 
before  Him  as  it  meets  the  fire  of  the  absolute  stand- 
ard. All  this  I  see,  but  not  the  picture  which  the 
Gospels  show,  not  men  and  women  in  their  sin 
crowding  around  Him,  clutching  at  His  garment, 
finding  His  face  full  of  hope,  seeing  new  life  open 


24  THE  TARES  AND   THE  WHEAT. 

before  them  as  they  gave  themselves  to  His  service. 
That  sight — and  that  has  been  the  sight  not  only  of 
the  Gospel  pages,  but  of  Christendom — could  not  be 
possible  except  under  the  power  of  the  presence  of 
one  who  the  sinner  was  sure  knew  his  sin  more 
deeply  and  counted  its  awfulness  more  awful  than 
the  sinner  did  himself. 

But  we  must  go  farther.  It  is  not  merely  the 
sinfulness  of  man  which  is  well  known  to  Christ.  It 
is  also  the  mixture  of  man's  sinfulness  with  his  good- 
ness. That  is  what  the  parable  of  the  tares  deals 
with.  And  that  any  being  must  know  who  really 
knows  man.  Simply  to  know  that  man  is  wicked 
is  not  enough.  That  makes  it  very  easy,  to  be  sure, 
and  simplifies  the  whole  problem  of  man's  moral  life. 
But  to  know  that  the  world  and  man  are  both  evil 
and  good,  and  that  their  evil  and  their  good  are 
subtly  mingled  with  each  other,  that  is  the  really 
real  knowledge  which  he  must  start  with  who  would 
deal  wisely  with  the  world  or  man. 

That  mingling  of  the  evil  and  the  good  deepens 
and  grows  more  intimate  the  more  we  study  it. 
First,  it  is  merely  that  bad  men  and  good  men  are 
living  together  side  by  side.  There  are  no  regions 
of  saints  and  regions  of  sinners  with  great  gulfs  be- 
tween them.  You  cannot  judge  any  man  by  where 
you  find  him.  The  pure  and  vile,  the  brave  and 
cowardly,  the  false  and  true  are  all  confused  and 
mixed  together.  But  that  is  only  the  beginning. 
I  Not  merely  every  crowd  but  every  man  is  all  con- 
'  fusion.  No  man  can  absolutely  characterize  his 
neighbor.     No  man  can  absolutely  characterize  him. 


f 


THE  TARES  AND  THE  WHEAT.  2$ 

self.  Every  man  is  good.  Every  man  is  bad.  You 
think  that  you  have  found  your  field  of  wheat, 
your  perfect  man  ;  but,  lo,  as  soon  as  you  have 
known  him,  or,  still  more,  as  soon  as  he  has  opened 
to  you  his  knowledge  of  himself, — there  are  the 
tares,  harsh,  hard,  unfruitful  in  the  very  midst  of 
the  golden  plenty.  You  think  that  you  have  found 
your  worthless  field  of  weeds,  your  absolutely  good- 
for-nothing  man  and,  just  as  you  are  ready  to  give 
it  to  the  fire,  behold  there  comes  the  yellow  wheat 
in  the  very  heart  of  the  green  tares  to  startle  you. 
Nor  is  this  all.  Not  only  in  the  same  man  but  even 
in  the  same  deed  the  good  and  evil  are  commingled. 
"At  least  this  act,"  you  say,  "  is  pure  and  simple." 
But  when  you  get  below  the  form  of  the  action  to 
that  which  is  really  it,  its  spirit  and  its  motive,  be- 
hold there  is  the  same  confusion  there.  The  act  of 
benevolence  flecked  and  stained  with  pride ;  the  self- 
restraint  which  has  some  self-indulgence  at  its  heart, 
truth  told  for  false  purposes,  religion  with  some  soul 
of  selfishness.  No  smallest  garden  where  the  wheat 
and  tares  do  not  crowd  and  twist  in  with  one  an- 
other. No  purification  so  complete  that  something 
does  not  linger  to  show  that  this  special  act  is  still 
a  poor  man's  act  with  all  the  mixture  in  it  of  his 
human  infirmity  and  sin. 

All  this  Christ  knows.  And  then,  besides  His 
knowledge  of  it,  the  parable  of  the  tares  tells  us 
something  else — which  is  that  He  is  hopeful  about 
it,  that  He  declares  that  this  state  of  sin  and  confu- 
sion is  not  the  final  thing.  We  shall  see  in  a  few 
moments  what   is   the  prophecy  which   He  makes 


26  THE   TARES   AND   THE   WHEAT. 

with  regard  to  the  time  and  way  of  the  solution ; 
but  now  the  point  is  that  He  makes  a  prophecy. 
He  declares  that  the  time  is  to  come  when  the  tares 
are  to  be  plucked  out  and  the  wheat  is  to  be  left 
alone,  when  evil  is  to  be  extirpated  and  good  remain. 
Is  not  this  the  first  thing  we  wish  to  know  about 
any  man  who  undertakes  to  deal  with  the  mixture 
of  right  and  wrong  ?  Does  he  believe  in,  is  he  sure 
of,  the  ultimate  triumph  of  the  right,  the  ultimate 
destruction  of  the  wrong?  If  he  does  not,  then 
how  dreary  grow  his  lamentations.  Christ  does  ! 
He  is  so  sure  of  it;  it  is  so  utterly  taken  for 
granted  in  everything  He  says,  that  we  cannot  find 
a  direct  statement  of  it,  but  the  whole  parable  glows 
with  a  certainty  at  the  end — the  certainty  of  the 
harvest  gathered  clean  of  tares,  pure  and  precious 
into  the  great  master's  barn, 
f  With  such  a  certainty  as  this  filling  His  soul  there 
can  be  no  such  thing  as  compromise  with  sin.  Com- 
promise comes  from  the  belief  that  sin  cannot  be 
'  conquered.  A  man  who  is  convinced  not  merely 
that  things  are  wrong  but  that  they  always  must  be 
wrong,  is  ready  to  make  a  bargain  with  the  inevitable 
wickedness.  "  What  is  the  use  of  standing  out  for 
an  impossibility  ?  Let  us  make  the  best  terms  we 
can.  Let  us  fix  a  line  of  modified  goodness,  of 
mitigated  wickedness,  and  live  up  to  that."  But 
I  he  who  hopes  and  believes  in  the  ultimate  conquest 
i  and  overthrow  of  all  wickedness  will  have  nothing 
j  to  do  with  such  arrangements.  He  defies  the  yet 
unconquered  sin  and  prophesies  its  downfall.  He 
says  to  the  towering,  arrogant  iniquity  of  the  world 


THE   TARES   AND   THE   WHEAT.  27 

about  him,  "  You  are  weak,  however  strong  you 
seem.  I  have  no  bargain  to  make  with  you.  Some- 
time I  shall  see  you  perish."  He  says  to  the  sin  in 
his  own  heart,  "  You  are  not  I,  some  day  you,  the 
intruder,  shall  be  cast  out,  and  then  the  true  I  will 
appear." 

This  was  the  uncompromising  absoluteness  of 
Jesus.  It  came  from  His  certain  foresight  of  the 
victory  of  goodness  over  wickedness.  He  knew 
that  it  would  come.  As  certainly  as  if  He  saw  it 
here  already  He  knew  that  it  would  come.  What 
use  for  Him  to  make  treaties  with  a  citadel  which 
to-morrow  was  to  surrender  without  conditions,  and 
to  be  His  to  level  with  the  dust. 

My  dear  friend,  get  a  certainty  like  Christ's  and 
you  will  have  an  uncompromising  courage  such  as 
His.  Thoroughly  believe  that  the  Church  is  cer- 
tainly bound  to  be  spiritual,  and  the  state  to  be 
magnanimous,  and  society  to  be  pure,  and  you  are 
armed — or,  what  is  better  than  being  armed,  you 
are  inspired  against  the  unspirituality  of  the  Church 
and  the  sordidness  of  the  state  and  the  impurity  of 
social  life.  This  is  salvation  by  faith.  Thoroughly 
believe  that  the  day  shall  come  when  these  lusts  and 
falsehoods  and  meannesses  of  yours  shall  be  com- 
pletely cast  out  and  destroyed,  and  you  cannot 
make  any  base  treaty  with  them  such  as  you  are 
making  now — that  they  shall  have  so  much  of  your 
life  to  themselves  if  they  will  leave  the  rest  un- 
touched. You  cannot  sign  a  treaty  of  submission 
to  your  tyrant  to-day  if  you  believe  that  you  are 
going  to  be  free  to-morrow. 


28  THE  TARES  AND  THE  WHEAT. 

"  To-morrow  !  "  you  say;  "  yes,  if  it  only  were 
to-morrow — but  it  is  so  very  far  away.  Even  if  I 
do  believe  that  it  is  coming,  it  is  so  very  far  away. 
I  must  make  my  terms  with  the  enemy  meanwhile, 
while  we  must  live  together  waiting  for  the  end  of 
things."  And  then  the  parable  of  the  tares  comes 
in,  and  it  appears  as  if  that  part  of  it  which  I  have 
quoted  for  my  text  at  first  sight  taught  this  very 
compromise  which  we  reject.  But  it  does  not. 
The  master  of  the  field  asserts  the  necessity  of  time. 
He  says  that  the  tares  are  not  to  be  torn  out  at  once, 
but  (here  is  the  point)  he  does  not  for  an  instant  let 
the  tares  and  wheat  become  confused  with  one  an- 
other, and  he  makes  the  day  of  their  certain  separa- 
tion shine  just  as  clearly  in  his  picture  as  the  interval 
in  which  they  are  to  go  on  growing  side  by  side. 

For  every  process  must  proceed  according  to  the 
nature  of  the  things  which  are  involved  in  it.  If  I 
am  going  to  drive  a  nail  into  a  piece  of  wood,  a 
single  strong  blow  of  the  hammer  drives  it  home, 
but  if  I  am  going  to  set  a  tree  into  the  soil,  I  cannot 
do  it  in  an  instant.  Only  as  the  slow  vital  proc- 
esses, the  reactions  between  the  root  and  the  ground 
begin  and  advance,  so  only  can  the  tree  really  occu- 
py the  ground  and  be  taken  possession  of  by  it.  If 
I  am  going  to  get  a  superficial  habit  of  action  out  of 
a  man's  life,  a  single  strong  blast  of  scorn  or  persua- 
sion may  blow  it  away,  but  if  I  am  to  set  right  the 
perversion  of  a  man's  soul,  to  extract  from  a  man's 
soul  the  poison  which  has  seated  itself  there,  noth- 
ing but  the  long  sunshine  of  the  grace  of  God,  bring- 
ing His  healthiness  with  it,  can  do  the  work.     In 


THE   TARES   AND   THE   WHEAT.  2g 

proportion  to  the  seriousness  and  intricacy  of  the 
disorder  must  be  the  length  and  patience  of  the 
cure. 

Here  is  the  danger  of  all  those  prompt  and  furious 
attacks  on  sin  which  shake  a  great  community,  and 
eagerly  demand  the  instant  fulness  of  the  new  life 
in  the  converted  soul.     They  are  very  captivating. 
They  appeal  to  a  noble  impatience  in  us,  we  cannot  - 
help  knowing  his  simple  faith,  his  passionate  enthu- 
siasm when  the  revival  preacher  stands  with  glowing 
face  and  cries  out  for  the  immediate  purification  of 
the  world,  the  immediate  perfect  holiness  of  the  soul.  „ 
We  gladly  count  him  a  thousand  times  more  noble 
and  more  reasonable  than  the  calm,  sophistical  phi- 
losopher who  reconciles  himself  to  sin  as  a  necessity 
and  only  dreams  of  some  far-off  celestial  revolution 
which  on  the  fields  of  another  life  shall  shake  man 
and  his  sin  asunder.     But  the  danger  of  it  all  lies 
here.     Lest  men,  full  of  the  passion  of  immediate- 
ness,  shall  think  not  merely  that  the  great  blessed  \ 
process  is  to  be  begun  but  that  it  also  is  to  be  fin-   ■ 
ished,  here  and  now.     The  danger  is  that  the  con- 
verted man  shall  think  the  new  life  perfect  in  him — "' 
and  what  then  ?     By  and  by  one  or  the  other  of  two 
results  is  apt  to  come.     Either,  in  order  to  keep  his     ' 
belief  that  the  new  life  is  actually  perfect  in  him, 
the  man  has  to  bring  down  his  notion  of  the  new  life 
and  make  it  match  the  thing  he  actually  is,  or  else, 
finding,  more  honestly,  how  far  he  is  from  its  per- 
fection, how  full  he  is  of  weakness  and  of  sin,  he 
thinks  because  it  is  not  perfect  that  it  is  not  there 
at  all,  and  so  gives  up  in  hopelessness. 


30  THE   TARES  AND   THE   WHEAT. 

Far  be  it  from  me  in  any  way  to  disparage  the 
noble  work  of  the  revivalist.  Great  is  the  man  who 
in  entire  freedom  from  self-assertion,  stands  up  in 
the  midst  of  a  community  like  this,  all  saturated 
with  self-conceit  and  satisfaction,  and  asserts  the 
awful  presence  of  sin  and  bids  men,  here,  now, 
while  he  speaks,  while  the  air  thrills  with  repentance 
and  petition,  give  themselves  to  God  and  begin 
another  life.  I  cannot  begin  to  say  how  sad,  in  one 
sense  how  contemptible,  appears  to  me  the  criticism 
of  such  men  glibly  and  flippantly  bestowed  by  other 
men  who  never  have  known  what  it  is  to  be  bowed 
down,  to  sigh  and  cry  for  the  iniquities  and  abom- 
inations and  miseries  of  their  own  lives  and  their 
brethren's  ;  but  just  because  I  honor  him,  I  long  to 
see  the  people  whom  he  touches  feel  what  it  is  that 
must  be  done,  what  alone  it  is  that  can  be  done  here 
in  this  intense  and  earnest  meeting,  or  there  in  that 
still,  solemn  chamber  whither  the  penitent  goes  to 
confess  his  sins  and  give  his  soul  to  God.  Glorious, 
at  first  sight,  it  would  seem  to  be  if  there  the  man 
could  cast  himself  down  just  as  he  is,  with  all  his 
sins  upon  him,  before  a  present  Saviour  standing 
there  with  the  very  nail-prints  in  his  hands  and  feet, 
and  then  rise  up  not  only  forgiven  for  his  sin  but 
absolutely  stripped  and  freed  of  it  forever.  More 
glorious,  as  we  know  man's  nature  better,  does  it 
come  by  and  by  to  appear  that  out  of  those  doors  of 
blessing  the  man  should  come  forgiven,  hating  his 
sin,  full  of  hope,  full  of  the  certainty  of  the  day 
when  he  shall  be  free  of  it  forever;  but,  for  the 
present,  vowed  and  consecrated  to  a  struggle  with 


THE   TARES   AND   THE  WHEAT.  3 1 

it  which  is  to  go  on  until  he  dies.  Soberer  is  the 
face  in  which  that  resolution  burns,  not  yet  the 
angel's  face  which  shone  on  Stephen  when  the  stones 
came  crashing  which  were  to  break  down  the  wall  of 
time  and  open  up  the  fields  of  the  immortal  life. 
More  like  the  face  of  Paul  as  he  went  on  into  Da- 
mascus, blind,  feeling  his  way,  still. saying  over  and 
over,  "  Lord,  what  wilt  thou  have  me  to  do  ?  "  but 
yet  calm  and  determined,  past  all  chance  of  change, 
to  live  thenceforth  the  life  by  the  faith  of  the  Son 
of  God.  Sober  and  earnest  and  determined,  rather 
than  radiant  and  triumphant,  is  this  new  Christian's 
faith.  His  fight  is  still  before  him.  The  fields  of 
the  great  future  are  thick  with  struggle.  But  the 
power  is  within  him  and  the  hope  before  him.  Old 
things  are  passed  away  :  all  things  have  become 
new. 

Now,  the  parable  of  the  tares  goes  farther  than 
the  statement  of  this  fact — the  fact  that  prolonged 
struggle  is  necessary  for  spiritual  triumph,  that  the 
victory  over  sin  cannot  be  an  instantaneous  thing. 
It  tells  us  why.  It  gives  us  a  reason  for  this  neces- 
sity. Let  us  see  whether  we  can  understand  the 
reason  and  recognize  it  in  ourselves.     Jesus  says, 

Lest  while  ye  gather  up  the  tares,  ye  root  up  also 
the  wheat  with  them."  Behold,  he  says,  if  you 
were  instantly  to  obliterate  the  chance  of  evil  you 
would  also  injure  the  chance  of  good.  Strange  doc- 
trine, so  it  seems  at  first,  but  not  strange  for  more 
than  the  first  moment  to  any  one  who  really  knows 
the  nature  and  centralness  of  that  great  thing,  the 
human  will.     The  will  is  at  the  root  of  everything. 


32  THE   TARES   AND   THE   WHEAT. 

By  the  will  alone  is  any  action  good  or  bad.  An 
unwilled  action  has  no  moral  character.  No  treat- 
ment of  a  man  then  must  meddle  with  his  will  or 
do  any  mischief  to  that  central  seat  of  character. 
But  the  will  changes  not  from  without,  save  as  it  is 
touched  by  motives  which  enter  into  it  and  make 
part  of  itself.  Its  real  motives  and  changes  are 
from  within.  Any  action  from  whatever  source  it 
came  which  did  not  act  on  man  through  his  will, 
which  treated  him  as  a  willess  thing,  would  weaken 
his  morality,  would  enfeeble  it  on  every  side,  in  its 
power  of  being  good  as  well  as  in  its  power  of  being 
bad.  And  the  desire  to  pluck  out  evil  from  a  life 
by  foreign  force,  without  the  life's  consent  first, 
even — which  is  what  every  desire  of  instantaneous 
perfection  ultimately  comes  to — is  therefore  an  in- 
jury done  to  the  whole  will  power  of  the  life,  mak- 
ing it  less  capable  of  goodness  as  it  becomes  less 
capable  of  sin. 

Let  me  not  state  it  too  abstractly  and  philosoph-, 
ically.  Here  is  your  ghild.  Wrong  as  all  children 
are,  just  because  they  are  human  creatures,  how 
shall  you  set  him  right?  Is  not  the  whole  problem 
of  your  education  this — to  educate  the  will  and  not 
to  break  it.  Perhaps  it  might  be  easy  with  all  the 
tremendous  purchase  of  your  parental  power  to 
break  your  child's  will  if  you  chose.  But  what  have 
you  got,  then  ?  A  poor,  spiritless,  willess  creature, 
incapable  of  good  as  he  is  incapable  of  evil,  with 
nothing  to  contribute  to  either  side  of  the  great 
battle  of  humanity  which  is  going  on  about  him. 
A  victim  first  and  then  a  hindrance.     That  is  not 


THE   TARES   AND   THE   WHEAT.  33 

what  you  want.  To  keep  the  will,  to  fill  it  -vrith 
more  and  more  life,  but  to  make  it  so  wise  that  it 
shall  spend  its  strength  in  goodness — that  is  your 
true  ambition  as  the  trainer  of  your  child.  And 
when  some  friend,  disheartened  with  your  slowness 
comes  to  you  and  says,  "  Why  do  you  not  settle 
the  whole  matter  once  for  all  by  breaking  the  child's 
will  to  pieces,  and  compelling  obedience  whether  he 
wants  to  obey  you  or  not  ?  " — and  you  reply,  "  I 
cannot  do  that — obedience  won  in  that  way  would 
not  be  obedience.  To  prevent  badness  so,  would 
be  to  prevent  goodness  also."  What  is  that  con- 
versation but  the  translation  into  household  lan- 
guage of  the  old  conversation  of  the  farmer  and  his 
servants.  "  Wilt  thou  that  we  go  and  gather  up 
the  tares  ?"  "  Nay,  lest  while  ye  gather  up  the 
tares  ye  root  up  also  the  fruit  with  them." 

This   is   the   danger  of  all  systems  of  salvation  \ 
which  are  repressive  and  protective,  and  not  stimu-  ; 
lative  and  inspiring.     They  range  all  the  way  from  ' 
the  mediaeval  cloister  to  the  most  modern  Protestant 
system  of   subduing  the  rebellious  will   under   the 
terrors  of  the  law  of  God.     They  all  have  this  same 
fault.     They  all  strive  to  make  vice  impossible  by  an 
expedient  which,  if  it  succeeded,  would  make  virtue 
impossible  as  well.     They  all  forget  or  ignore  the 
truth  that  not  to  hinder  wickedness  but  to  create 
goodness  is  the  real  purpose  of  all  moral  culture — 
that  the  highest  goodness  in  this  state  of  existence 
necessarily  includes  the  highest  power  of  being  bad. 
The  most  celestial  existence  stands  in  danger  of  the 
greatest  fall.     This  is  the  meaning  of  the  strange 


34  THE   TARES  AND   THE   WHEAT. 

picture  of  Lucifer,  son  of  the  morning,  flung  from 
heaven  into  the  depths  of  darkness. 

Let  both  grow  together."  Those  words,  then, 
tell  the  story  of  man's  present  life.  But  they  are 
not  the  last  words  of  the  parable.  "  Let  both  grow 
together  until  the  harvest."  Are  not  these  just  the 
final  words  we  need.  They  bring  in  just  the  intima- 
tion which  the  verse  requires.  For  they  declare 
that  however  impossible  now  may  be  the  separation 
of  the  evil  and  the  good,  however  necessary  it  may 
be  that  they  should  go  on  thus  inextricable,  min- 
gled with  each  other,  that  is  not  an  everlasting 
necessity.  The  time  will  come  when  the  good  may 
shake  itself  free  from  the  evil  and  go  its  way,  un- 
hindered, unendangered,  with  no  prospect  save  of 
ever-ripening  and  increasing  goodness  forever. 
What  would  life  be  without  such  a  promise  ?  With 
such  a  promise  who  can  exaggerate,  who  can  de- 
scribe the  richness  and  significance  of  living  ?  Do 
you  ask  me  what  life  is  to  mean  for  you,  my  friend  ? 
Can  you  tell  me  ?  "  you  say.  And  I  answer  that 
I  think  I  can,  because  Christ  has  told  us  all  in  this 
great  parable.  Life  is  to  mean  for  you  one  long 
struggle.  You  are  to  do  right  with  the  same  powers 
with  which  you  might  do  wrong.  Never  a  holy 
deed  that  might  not,  if  you  chose  that  it  should  be 
so,  be  unholy.  Your  will  is  to  be  trained  and 
strengthened  by  choosing  to  be  good  where  it  is 
perfectly  possible  for  you  to  be  bad.  This  is  to  go 
on  year  after  year,  year  after  year,  till  it  has  done 
in  you  a  work  which  this,  and  nothing  except  this, 
can  do,  and  then,  not  until  then,  shall  come  another 


THE   TARES   AND   THE   WHEAT.  35 

condition,  which  then,  and  not  until  then,  shall  be 
possible,  in  which  struggle  shall  be  over,  and  with- 
out a  danger  of  wickedness  you  shall  go  on  ripening 
in  holiness  in  the  unhindered  sunshine  of  God  for- 
ever. That  is  the  harvest,  "  When  will  it  come; 
must  I  wait  till  I  am  dead  ?  Can  it  come  only  in 
Heaven?"  It  must  be  like  all  Heaven,  O  my 
friend,  fully  to  be  realized  only  in  the  perfect  world, 
but  capable  of  indefinite  anticipation  and  approxi- 
mation here.  It  shall  come  gradually,  and  not  by 
one  sudden  flash  and  shock.  More  and  more  as  the 
wheat  ripens  it  must  separate  itself  from  the  tares. 
More  and  more  as  the  man  does  right  in  danger,  he 
grows  out  of  the  danger  of  doing  wrong,  until,  be- 
yond the  mystery  of  death,  that  which  began  this 
side  of  it  becomes  complete,  and,  garnered  into  the 
barns  of  God,  the  wheat  knows  no  more  of  the  tares 
forever. 

Struggle  until,  through  struggle,  struggle  is  out- 
grown. Is  there  any  nobler  picture  of  life  which  a 
brave,  strong,  patient  man  could  ask  than  that. 
That  is  what  Christ  offers  in  His  parable.  May  He 
help  us  all  to  feel  the  beauty  and  inspiration  of  that 
life,  and  to  attempt  it  and  live  it  by  His  grace. 


III. 

THE   MOTIVE   OF   RELIGION. 

"  Then  Satan  answered  the  Lord  and  said,  Doth  Job  serve  God 
for  nought?" — Job  i.  9. 

This  question  has  all  of  Satan's  disposition  in  it. 
For  Satan  in  the  Bible  is  the  slanderer.  The  essence 
of  his  wickedness  seems  always  there  to  lie  in  his 
suspiciousness  and  his  refusal  to  allow  anybody  any 
goodness.  It  is  the  spirit  of  simple  comprehensive 
hatred.  He  hates  God  and  he  hates  man.  He 
grudges  them  to  one  another.  He  will  not  let  God 
have  satisfaction  in  man  nor  man  have  satisfaction 
in  God  if  he  can  help  it.  He  hates  goodness  and 
he  hates  the  human  soul.  He  would  banish  good- 
ness from  the  earth  and  he  would  starve  the  human 
soul  if  he  could. 

We  can  recognize  the  true  Satanic  character  of 
such  a  disposition.  It  is  genuine,  essential  wicked- 
ness. It  is  distinctly  different  from  the  hot  impet- 
uosity of  evil  into  which  a  soul  is  carried  by  some 
overwhelming  provocation  or  by  some  apparent  per- 
sonal advantage.  It  is  a  hatred  of  goodness  because 
it  is  good,  and  of  man  because  he  is  man.  We 
shudder  at  it ;  we  say  how  terrible  it  is.     And  yet 

36 


THE   MOTIVE  OF   RELIGION.  37 

the  echoes  of  it  are  all  around  us.  Happy  is  the 
man  who  has  not  felt  the  echo  of  it  within  him. 
The  preference  of  evil  rather  than  good.  The  choice 
of  the  worse  construction  of  a  man's  life  and  action 
rather  than  the  better.  The  dislike  of  thinking  good 
where  it  is  possible  to  think  evil.  These  are  the 
Satan  tempers  wherever  they  appear.  And  who  has 
not  seen  them  in  the  faces  of  men  and  women  walk- 
ing on  our  streets  as  well  as  in  the  subtle  and  malig- 
nant face  which  looks  out  from  the  great  poem  on 
the  day  when  "  the  sons  of  God  came  to  present 
themselves  before  the  Lord  and  Satan  came  also 
among  them." 

But  Satan  is  very  clever  as  well  as  very  wicked, 
and  so,  while  we  denounce  his  slandering,  each 
special  slander  may  well  seem  worthy  of  our  study. 
I  am  most  foolish  if  I  do  not  listen  while  my  worst 
enemy  abuses  me  to  see  if  out  of  his  abuse  I  may 
not  catch  some  intimation  of  where  my  weakness 
lies  and  what  my  faults  are.  This  is  the  blessing 
which  may  come  to  us  from  the  men  who  abuse  us. 
They  may  set  us  to  thinking  about  ourselves.  So 
we  may  listen  while  Satan  slanders  Job.  The  great 
arch-slanderer  insists  that  Job's  religion  is  selfish- 
ness. "  Doth  Job  serve  God  for  naught? "  If  Job 
in  Uz  had  heard  what  Satan  said  "  before  the 
Lord,"  we  can  imagine  that  questions  might  have 
been  started  in  his  pious  mind.  "  Was  there  then 
selfishness  in  his  devoutness  ?  "  As  he  looked  up 
and  saw  the  vast  abundance  of  his  wealth,  and  knew 
in  his  soul  that  God  had  given  him  it  all,  must  he 
not  have  asked  himself,  "Is  it  for  this,  then,  that 


38  THE   MOTIVE   OF   RELIGION. 

I  serve  God  ?"  and  may  he  not  have  almost  re- 
joiced in  the  malignancy  of  Satan  since  it  induced 
God  to  put  to  proof  that  which  the  pious  soul  was 
almost  ready  to  suspect  itself. 

Then  comes  the  wonderfully  rich  and  subtle 
poem.  The  heart  of  Job  is  searched  and  opened 
and  learns  to  know  itself.  Its  motives  are  dissected 
and  exposed.  The  man  learns  to  know  himself  in 
all  his  weaknesses.  He  learns  also  to  know  himself 
in  his  essential  loyalty  and  love  to  God.  And  at 
last  the  poem  closes  with  the  picture  of  a  restored 
prosperity  in  which  there  could  be  no  suspicion,  and 
Job  dies  in  the  last  verse,  "  old  and  full  of  days," 
sure  that  he  served  God  for  something  more  than 
flocks  and  herds,  and  offering  the  pattern  of  unsel- 
fish righteousness  to  all  the  ages. 

The  subject  which  the  question  of  the  slanderer 
suggests,  then,  is,  "  The  Motive  of  Religion."  For 
us,  too,  there  comes  the  same  question.  We  listen, 
and  the  Bible  teems  with  promises.  We  look,  and 
all  experience  holds  up  the  prizes  of  life  and  says, 
"  These  shall  belong  to  him  who  serves  the  Lord." 
Health,  happiness,  and  good  repute,  nay,  even,  in 
the  long  run,  prosperity  and  wealth  are  promised  to, 
are  given  to,  the  man  who  lives  uprightly  and  keeps 
his  garments  clean  and  his  hands  busy.  The  wicked 
man  is  threatened  with  disgrace  and  ruin.  The  idle 
apprentice  sees  himself  in  imagination  behind  iron 
bars.  With  many  exceptions  and  suspensions,  the 
rule  is  true  that  all  things  work  together  for  God's 
children.  It  would  be  evident  beforehand  that,  this 
being  the  case,  the  souls  of  earnest  Christians  should 


THE   MOTIVE   OF   RELlGl'O'N.  39 

come  to  questions  with  themselves  and  wonder  what 
it  was  that  really  bound  them  to  their  faith.  The 
more  devout  and  earnest  is  the  soul  the  more  it 
often  must  be  troubled.  The  question  is  not  one 
that  stays  outside  and  is  asked  only  by  the  captious 
Satan  in  the  street.  It  finds  its  way  within.  Nay, 
very  often  it  starts  up  within  and  feeds  itself  on  the 
soul's  best  dispositions  and  desires.  It  haunts  our 
struggles  and  enfeebles  them.  Surely  it  must  be 
good  for  us  to  face  such  a  question  and  give  it  its 
answer.  This  is  what  I  shall  try  to  do  as  I  speak  to 
you  about  the  motive  of  religion. 

And  the  first  thing  we  say  is  this :  that  while  Job's 
whole  soul  may  revolt  at  the  notion  of  his  serving 
God  for  gain,  he  cannot  escape  from  his  perplexity 
by  denying  the  fact,  or  by  insisting  that  he  shall  get 
no  gain  out  of  serving  God.  The  fact  is  that,  in  the 
long  run  and  in  the  large  view,  prosperity  and  the 
service  of  God  are  bound  together.  That  is  the 
idea  of  life.  That  is  what  our  sense  of  justice 
demands.  And  no  man  must  deny  that  fact  as  it 
applies  itself  to  his  own  life.  It  is  not  by  burning 
his  barns  and  killing  his  cattle  that  Job  will  get  rid 
of  his  difficulties  and  answer  the  question  of  his 
motive  in  serving  God. 

It  is  remarkable  to  see  how  really  the  Bible  has 
two  classes  of  utterances.  On  the  one  hand  it  has 
such  promises  as  those  which  I  have  just  been  quot- 
ing, which  offer  blessings  to  obedience  and  assure 
men  that  if  they  serve  God  they  shall  prosper.  On 
the  other  hand  there  are  such  words  as  those  of  Jesus 
in  which  he  frankly  told  his  disciples  that  in  the 


40  THE   MOTIVE  OF  RELIGION. 

world  they  should  "have  tribulation  "  in  proportion 
as  they  belonged  to  him.  It  is  very  interesting  to 
put  these  two  sorts  of  utterances  together  and  ask 
what  will  be  the  total  impression  which  is  the  result- 
ant in  the  mind  of  him  who  believes  them  both. 
No  doubt  he  will  decide  that  what  they  mean  is  the 
certainty  that  righteousness  will  come  to  happiness 
in  the  end,  but  will  have  to  pass  through  much  of 
suffering  upon  the  way.  And,  if  he  be  wise,  the 
practical  rule  by  which  the  man  will  try  to  live  will 
be  the  forgetfulness  of  consequences  altogether,  the 
ceasing  to  think  whether  happiness  or  unhappiness 
is  coming,  and  the  pursuit  of  righteousness  for  its 
own  sake,  the  being  upright,  brave  and  true,  simply 
because  uprightness,  bravery,  and  truth  are  the  only 
worthy  conditions  of  a  human  soul.  Great  is  the 
condition  of  a  man  who  thus  lets  rewards  take  care 
of  themselves,  come  if  they  will  or  fail  to  come,  but 
goes  on  his  way  true  to  the  truth  simply  because  it 
is  true,  strongly  loyal  to  the  right  for  its  pure  right- 
eousness. 

I  say. this  first  to  show  that  the  whole  question  of 
the  benefit  of  goodness  is  not  a  fundamental  ques- 
tion. There  is  a  power  of  goodness  to  hold  men 
quite  behind  its  benefit.  He  who  is  good  in  the 
highest  way  is  as  unwilling  to  talk  about  the  benefit 
of  goodness  as  about  the  benefit  of  friendship. 

But,  having  said  this,  it  is  necessary  that  we 
should  go  on  and  see  that  as  a  fact  goodness  has  its 
benefits  and  to  recognize  how  helpful  the  right  use 
of  them  may  be  in  the  development  and  training  of 
a  soul.     We  need  not  fear  to  use  them.     Jesus  uses 


THE   MOTIVE  OF  RELIGION.  4I 

them  freely.  All  that  we  need  is  to  understand  how 
they  may  be  rightly  used ;  how  a  man  may  rejoice 
in  all  the  blessings  which  come  to  him  from  serving 
God,  and  yet  not  have  to  own  to  himself  that  he 
serves  God  for  hire. 

The  answer  to  the  question,  the  solution  of  the 
difficulty,  seems  to  me  to  lie  in  the  way  in  which  the 
whole  thought  of  reward  is  capable  of  elevation  and 
enlargement  and  the  way  in  which,  as  it  becomes 
elevated  and  enlarged,  it  sloughs  off  and  casts  aside 
the  evils  and  dangers  which  belonged  to  it  in  its 
lower  forms  and  becomes  purer  and  purer  and  more 
and  more  capable  of  good,  and  good  alone. 

Where  does  such  elevation  and  enlargement 
begin  ?  Take  first  the  idea  of  reward  in  its  most 
palpable  and  simple  form.  Take  it  in  its  Old  Tes- 
tament form,  wherein  it  promises  the  direct  material 
recompense  here  and  now  of  all  the  good  things  that 
men  do.  It  has  its  beauty,  but  its  beauty  is  of  the 
most  crude  and  primitive  sort.  It  thinks  of  the 
outer  and  the  inner  world  as  if  they  were  in  perfect 
correspondence  and  answered  immediately  to  each 
other.  The  field  stands  watching  the  faithful  man, 
and  when  he  does  another  faithful  thing  it  praises 
him  with  a  new  wheat  sheaf  or  a  new  olive  tree. 
The  faithful  man  sees  in  the  multiplication  of  his 
cattle  or  the  enlargement  of  his  palace  the  direct  and 
necessary  testimony  of  his  faithfulness.  There  is 
something  very  attractive  because  there  is  something 
very  true  in  that  idea.  It  makes  the  earth  a  unit. 
In  the  world  in  which  it  should  be  true  without  dis- 
turbance there  must  come  to  be  a  noble  sense  of 


42  THE   MOTIVE   OF   RELIGION. 

harmony  and  peace.  Even  half-true  as  it  is  here, 
the  gHmpses  which  we  catch  of  its  half-truth  are  full 
of  fascination.  But  we  can  see  also  what  its  dangers 
are.  We  can  see  why  it  is  good  that  here,  while 
man  is  what  man  is  now,  it  should  be  only  half,  and 
not  altogether  true.  So  immediate,  so  infallible,  so 
correspondent  then,  would  come  the  echo  of  blessing 
on  the  deed  of  duty,  that  echo  and  deed  might  well 
become  confused  in  the  soul  of  the  duty-doer,  and 
it  might  easily  appear  as  if  not  the  doing  of  the  duty 
but  the  getting  of  the  blessing  were  the  final  and 
important  thing.  The  man  himself,  expecting  the 
reward  to  fill  immediately  the  hands  out  of  which 
the  tools  had  dropped  might  well  hear  his  own  heart 
saying  to  him,  "Ah,  you  are  well  paid  for  what  you 
do.     Do  you  serve  God  for  nought  ?  " 

2.  We  pass  on  to  another  motive,  when  we  think 
of  the  Christian  as  looking  for  blessing  not  in  this 
hfe  but  in  the  life  beyond  the  grave.  "  I  shall  be 
happy  in  Heaven,"  says  the  servant  of  Christ  ;  "  I 
can  wait.  The  glory  and  the  bliss  that  are  to  be 
revealed  are  well  worth  waiting  for.  I  can  suffer  for 
these  few  years,  sure  of  the  freedom  from  suffering 
which  I  am  to  have  forever  and  ever."  What  mul- 
titudes of  souls  have  fed  upon  this  certainty.  What 
multitudes  are  feeding  on  it  now  and  gathering  great 
strength  and  patience. 

And  we  can  see  at  once  that  this  expectation  of 
celestial  reward  has  left  behind  much  of  the  danger 
of  the  anticipation  of  reward  to  be  received  on  earth. 
In  the  first  place  it  never  can  be  so  distinct  and  defi- 
nite.    It  cannot  take  clear  concrete  shapes  to  the 


THE   MOTIVE   OF   RELIGION.  43 

ambitious  desires,  like  houses  and  lands  and  bags  of 
money,  and  the  visible,  audible  tokens  of  men's 
esteem.  Being  of  necessity  less  sharp  and  distinct 
before  the  imagination,  the  prizes  of  the  celestial  life 
may  well  appear  more  spiritual  and  the  terms  of 
their  attainment  may  seem  less  arbitrary,  more  essen- 
tial. Thus  they  may  be  the  means  of  higher  and 
purer  inspiration. 

And  then,  again,  there  is  the  fact  that  they  are 
far  away  and  must  be  waited  for.  The  goodness 
must  be  here  and  now.  The  crown  of  the  goodness 
is  not  till  by  and  by.  Self-sacrifice  to-day.  But 
the  recompense  of  self-sacrifice  only  when  the  grave 
is  past  and  eternity  begun.  Evidently  that  sort  of 
expectation  has  a  power  of  spiritual  education.  It 
demands  patience  and  hope.  It  compels  the  sacri- 
fice of  the  seen  and  present  for  the  unseen  and  fu- 
ture. It  calls  for  faith,  the  trust  in  a  promise  where 
assurance  must  rest  upon  the  perceived  character  of 
the  promiser.  There  must  be  self-control  and  that 
communion  with  God  which  the  child  has  with  the 
father  whom  he  perfectly  trusts,  but  who  withholds 
from  him  for  a  time  the  gifts  which  he  will  certainly 
bestow  on  him  some  day.  These  are  great  things 
for  the  soul  to  have.  The  discipline  which  gives 
these  things  to  the  soul  is  very  rich  and  bountiful. 
It  cannot  be  stigmatized  as  mercenary;  and  yet 
still  it  is  a  service  for  a  personal  reward.  Still  even 
of  the  expectant  saint  who  stands  in  the  midst  of 
present  sorrows  and  surrenders  with  his  glowing 
face  lifted  and  his  eager  eye  fixed  on  the  celestial 
joys, — even  of  him   the   question   may  be   asked. 


44  THE   MOTIVE   OF   RELIGION. 

emptied  of  all  its  bitterness  and  jealousy,  perhaps, 
but  intrinsically  the  same  question  still,  "  Does  he 
serve  God  for  nought  ?  "  Who  would  not  sacrifice 
much,  yea  everything,  in  these  few  years  of  time  to 
be  rewarded  with  a  whole  eternity  of  joy! 

3.  It  is  a  great  step  forward  which  we  take  when 
we  pass  on  to  the  next  motive  and  come  to  character 
as  the  essential  reward  and  true  ambition  of  a  noble 
life.  For  then  we  pass  beyond  all  of  what  commonly 
are  meant  by  consequences,  and  our  thought  is  fixed 
upon  intrinsic  qualities  as  the  true  result  and  re- 
compense of  struggle  after  righteousness.  "  If  I  do 
these  brave  things  I  shall  be  brave."  "  If  I  resist 
this  temptation  to  impurity  I  shall  be  pure." 
Bravery  and  purity  as  real  possessions  of  the  soul; 
as  real,  nay,  far  more  real  than  houses  and  oxen  and 
bags  of  gold — these  make  the  new  ambition.  What 
has  become,  then,  of  the  old  question  ?  Is  it  not 
clear  that  while  it  has  not  disappeared,  has  not  ceased 
to  be  asked,  it  has  been  marvellously  purified  and 
refined  ?  The  asking  of  it  now  does  not  strike  shame 
but  sends  the  glow  of  joyous  gratitude  into  the  soul 
of  the  saint  conscious  of  the  lofty  benefaction  which 
he  has  received.  "  Do  you  serve  God  for  nought  ?  " 
"  Do  you  not  serve  God  for  nought  ?"  someone 
asks  almost  scornfully  of  the  doer  of  righteousness, 
whose  righteous  life  has  brought  poverty,  and  sick- 
ness, and  friendlessness.  "  For  nought  ?  "  comes 
back  the  answer,  "  surely  not  !  For  everything! 
He  pays  me  in  the  richest  coin  and  most  abundantly. 
I  cannot  take  into  my  hands  and  hold  out  for  you 
to  count,  the  prizes  which  He  gives  me.     I  cannot 


THE   MOTIVE   OF   RELIGION.  45 

even  show  you  pledges  and  promises  written  in  a 
book  signed  with  His  name,  assuring  me  that  they 
shall  be  mine  upon  some  far-off  day,  but  they  are 
mine  here  and  now.  I  am  a  better  man — that  is  my 
reward  for  being  good."  Do  you  not  see  how  ques- 
tion and  answer  are  transfigured.  Mounting  up  to- 
gether into  the  heavenly  world  of  character,  they 
have  shaken  the  dust  and  mist  of  the  low  earth  off 
of  their  wings.  Now  let  the  soul  number  its  gains 
and  count  its  treasures.  They  are  so  fine  that  they 
refine  the  hands  which  count  them.  They  cannot 
beget  pride,  for  their  whole  soul  and  essence  is  hu- 
mility. Still  there  is  selfishness,  self-love,  but  it  is 
a  love  of  such  a  deep  self  that  it  is  a  love  also  both 
of  all  goodness  and  of  all  who  are  seeking  to  be 
good.  It  tends  to  sympathy  and  not  to  rivalry. 
How  far  away  it  has  come  from  the  first  craving  for 
reward  which  sought  for  the  recompense  of  a  holy 
life  in  benefits  which  the  ledger  could  count  and  the 
pocket  could  contain. 

One  great  and  striking  fact  about  this  gradual  ele- 
vation of  the  reward  of  goodness  is  that  the  higher 
it  becomes  the  easier  it  is  to  think  of  it  as  universal. 
The  highest  and  most  spiritual  blessings  are  like  fire. 
They  lend  themselves  and  multiply  their  flame  from 
point  to  point  without  robbery  or  grudge.  One 
does  not  have  them  less  because  his  brother  has 
them.  He  rather  has  them  more.  But  the  lower 
blessings  are  limited  in  quantity.  They  are  not  like 
fire,  but  like  gold.  The  more  one  has  the  less  there 
is  for  others.  This  always  has  appeared.  When- 
ever the  proper  rewards   of  a  religious  life  have 


46  THE  MOTIVE  OF  RELIGION. 

seemed  to  be  houses  and  lands  and  cattle,  there  has 
always  been,  hovering  about,  the  notion  of  a  chosen 
people,  a  favorite  selection  of  humanity  to  whom 
belonged  the  privilege  of  being  holy  and  appropriat- 
ing the  rewards  of  holiness.  Whenever  character 
has  seemed  to  be  intrinsically,  in  itself,  the  recom- 
pense of  righteousness,  the  clouds  have  rolled  away 
and  men  have  seen  the  vision  of  a  whole  human  race 
doing  the  will  of  God  and  finding  the  fulfilment  of 
its  life  in  that  obedience.  It  is  a  great  token  of  the 
truth  of  any  idea,  that  it  claims  universality,  that 
men  who  look  at  it  see  at  once  that,  if  it  were  ac- 
cepted as  true,  it  would  not  be  satisfied  with  offering 
its  solution  to  some  one  small  corner  of  the  human 
problem,  but  would  demand  the  privilege  of  offering 
its  key  to  the  whole.  And  this  witness  of  itself, 
this  motive  of  religion,  which  consists  in  the  essen- 
tial value  of  character,  abundantly  bears. 

4.  Have  we  yet  reached  the  end  ?  Is  there  a 
higher  motive  still  ?  I  think  there  is.  A  motive, 
or  perhaps  we  ought  to  say  a  range  of  motives, 
which  yet  more  completely  casts  aside  and  leaves 
behind  the  taint  of  mercenariness  while  it  still  pre- 
sents a  true  prize  to  the  uplifted  eye  of  the  struggler 
with  his  sins  and  the  seeker  for  goodness.  This 
range  of  motives  is  inspired  by  two  ideas.  One  of 
these  ideas  is  the  honor  which  man  by  his  holiness 
may  render  to  God.  The  other  is  the  help  which 
man  by  his  holiness  may  render  to  his  fellow-man. 
You  go  to  your  Christian  friend,  your  fellow-student, 
your  fellow-merchant,  your  fellow-man.  You  say  to 
him,   "  You   are   serving  God."      And  he  replies, 


THE   MOTIVE  OF  RELIGION.  47 

"  Yes,  certainly  I  am,  and  I  am  always  trying  to  serve 
Him  more  and  more  ";  and  then  you  ask  Satan's 
question,  "Is  it  for  nothing  that  you  serve  Him  ? 
Do  you  serve  God  for  nought  ?  "  And  he  repHes 
again,  "  O,  no.  He  pays  me  bountifully."  And 
then  you  say,  "  Tell  me  what  does  He  give  you." 
And  the  answer  comes,  "  He  gives  me  the  privilege 
of  honoring  Him  and  helping  my  fellow-men." 
What  then  ?  It  may  be  that  these  rewards  seem  to 
be  no  reward  to  you.  It  may  be  that  you  look  into 
his  face  as  if  you  looked  upon  an  idiot,  and  wondered 
what  distortion  of  the  mind  could  let  him  care  for 
things  like  these.  But  none  the  less  you  see  that  he 
did  care  for  them.  They  make  for  him  a  great 
enthusiasm.  They  are  his  "  exceeding  great  re- 
ward." And  if  you  let  yourself  go  on  and  ask,  not 
of  him  but  of  yourself,  "  Will  that  sort  of  reward 
lead  to  mercenariness  ?  "  the  only  answer  must  be, 
"  No  !  "  For  behold  here  the  last  touch  of  selfish- 
ness has  passed  away.  The  man  is  not  even  asking 
whether  he  is  becoming  a  better  man.  He  is  not 
thinking  of  Heaven.  He  is  certainly  not  counting 
his  bank  stocks  and  his  barns.  He  is  intensely  aware 
of  God  the  absolutely  glorious  and  man  the  actually 
needy.  He  is  full  of  the  healthy  sense  that  glory 
ought  to  be  manifested  and  need,  ought,  to  be 
relieved.  He  believes  that  if  he  serves  God  both  of 
these  ends  will  in  some  way,  in  some  degree,  be 
brought  about,  and  so  he  bends  him  to  his  work  and 
knows,  whether  he  can  trace  it  in  its  detail  or  not, 
that  God  is  more  honored  and  man  less  miserable 
because  of  the  life  he  lives. 


48  THE   MOTIVE   OF  RELIGION. 

Those  who  have  never  felt  it  cannot  know  how 
this  great  motive  takes  possession  of  a  man.  Think 
how  it  had  possession  of  the  Lord.  "  My  meat  is 
to  do  the  will  of  Him  that  sent  me  and  to  finish  His 
work."  And  at  the  last,  "  I  have  glorified  Thee." 
"  These  whom  thou  gavest  me  I  have  kept." 
Think  of  the  purpose  of  his  coming  which  the 
angels  sang,  "  Glory  to  God,"  etc.  What  shall  we 
say  of  Jesus  ?  "  Did  he  serve  God  for  nought  ?  " 
Truly  it  was  not  comfort  or  wealth  which  repaid 
him.  The  foxes  and  the  birds  seemed,  by  that 
test,  more  the  favorites  of  God  than  he.  And 
though  he  looked  forward  with  joy  to  the  time  when 
his  weary  work  should  be  over  and  he  should  go  to 
his  Father's  House,  it  was  not  as  recompense  that 
that  eternal  joy  offered  itself  to  him.  And  we  do 
not  know  how  far  he  dwelt  consciously  on  his  own 
growth  and  the  fulfilment  of  his  perfect  nature. 
But  this  is  beyond  all  doubt  or  question — that  day 
by  day  he  found  the  impulse  and  the  reward  of  his 
work  in  the  glory  of  his  Father  and  the  salvation 
of  mankind.  Was  ever  man  held  by  his  motive  as 
Jesus  was  by  His  ?  It  led  Him  directly  to  His  cross, 
but  He  never  hesitated  or  drew  back.  It  was  enough. 
Let  us  never  call  that  a  small,  or  a  vague,  or  an 
impossible  motive,  which  has  made  the  pattern  life 
of  humanity — the  life  of  the  Son  of  Man ! 

These,  then,  are  the  advancing  motives.  These 
are  the  higher  and  higher,  the  purer  and  purer  bene- 
fits which  come  to  him  who  gives  himself  to  God  to 
be  His  servant.  Do  you  not  see  now  what  I  meant 
when  I  said  that  each  higher  and  purer  motive  casr 


THE  MOTIVE  OF  RELIGION.  49 

off  and  left  behind  something  of  the  quality  of  pos- 
sible evil  which  had  belonged  to  those  below  it  ? 
The  loftiness  insures  the  safety.  It  is  not,  of 
course,  that  the  lower  motive  passes  away.  It  is 
only  put  in  its  true  place.  The  man  who  mounts  so 
high  that  his  controlling  desire  is  to  serve  his  fellow- 
men  still  thanks  God  that  his  most  external  life  is 
filled  with  mercy,  and  that  the  world  beyond  the 
grave  is  bright  with  promises  and  that  his  soul  is 
ripening  under  divine  culture.  All  these  are  with 
him  as  desires  and  as  gratitudes,  but,  dominating 
them  all  and  giving  each  its  true  proportion,  is  this 
great  dedication.  And  in  its  power  the  other  mo- 
tives keep  their  place  and  lose  their  danger. 

Is  there  not  here  a  glimpse,  such  as  one  delights 
to  get,  into  the  great  future  ?  The  search  for  earthly 
happiness,  the  sense  that  happiness  and  goodness 
naturally  and  appropriately  go  together  is  never 
going  to  be  eradicated  from  the  life  and  soul  of  man. 
The  craving  for  celestial  bliss  will  always  make  one 
of  the  deepest  passions  of  the  heart  which  believes 
in  eternity  at  all.  The  ambition  for  character  must 
forever  be  the  mainspring  of  much  of  the  noblest  of 
human  action.  But  the  first  will  be  kept  from  run- 
ning wild  into  a  mere  hunt  for  luxury,  and  the 
second  from  filling  life  with  unreality  and  other 
worldHness,  and  the  third  from  corrupting  into 
morbid  self-consciousness,  only  as  they  all  are 
surrounded  and  commanded  by  the  great  unselfish 
wish  to  glorify  God  and  to  serve  fellow-man.  There 
is  the  only  atmosphere  in  which  the  pursuit  of 
wealth  and  the  desire  of  heaven  and  the  craving  for 


50  THE   MOTIVE   OF   RELIGION. 

culture  are  kept  healthy,  sound,  and  true.  There  is 
the  secret  of  a  holy  energy  in  the  heart  of  which  all 
a  man's  best  activity  finds  place  and  stimulus. 
There  is  a  reward  of  serving  God  which  casts  the 
taunt  of  Satan  back  into  his  face,  or  rather  (shall  we 
not  say  ?)  which  seizes  it  and  carries  it  as  a  very 
flag  of  inspiration  and  of  triumph. 

"  Dost  thou  serve  God  for  nought  ?"  O,  no! 
His  wages  are  unspeakable.  Day  by  day  (so  the 
obedient  soul  replies),  day  by  day  I  find  in  serving 
Him  the  privilege  of  ministering  to  His  glory  and  of 
helping  these  children  of  His  who  are  my  brethren. 
Day  by  day  the  sufficiency  of  that  reward  grows 
manifest.  It  is  enough.  It  is  so  m.uch  that  all 
besides  is  either  included  in  it  or  is  made  unneces- 
sary. Without  it,  all  other  wages  would  be  woefully 
unsatisfactory.  To  be  rich,  to  go  to  heaven,  even 
to  be  good,  what  would  they  be  if  I  could  not 
glorify  God  and  help  my  fellow-men.  No!  I  do 
not  "  serve  God  for  nought."  His  reward  not 
merely  satisfies  but  overwhelms  me  with  its  rich- 
ness. 

With  such  attraction  let  us  tempt  our  souls  and 
the  souls  of  our  brethren.  O  taste  and  see  that  the 
Lord  is  good,  blessed  is  the  man  that  trusteth  in 
Him.  Who  will  not  come  to  such  a  service  ?  Who 
will  not  give  his  heart  and  life  to  such  a  God  ? 


UNSEEN  SPIRITUAL  HELPERS. 

"  And  Elisha  prayed  and  said,  *  Lord,  I  pray  thee,  open  his  eyes, 
that  he  may  see.'  And  the  Lord  opened  the  eyes  of  the  young  man  ; 
and  he  saw :  and,  behold,  the  mountain  was  full  of  horses  and 
chariots  of  fire  round  about  Elisha." — 2  Kings  vi.  17. 

It  is  an  old  Hebrew  story.  Many  people  are 
fond  of  exhorting  ministers  not  to  preach  about  the 
old  Hebrews,  to  let  the  sins  and  virtues  of  the  Is- 
raelites go,  and  to  talk  to  the  present  century  about 
its  own  affairs.  No  doubt  the  exhortation  some- 
times may  be  needed,  but  it  is  often  very  foolishly 
given.  What  we  want  is  not  to  let  the  wonderful 
history  of  that  ancient  people  go,  but  rather  to 
study  it  far  more  deeply  and  wisely.  We  want  to 
save  our  present  life  from  being  a  poor  extemporised 
thing  by  seeing  how  God  was  teaching  lessons  for 
this  age  of  ours  and  for  every  age,  centuries  ago. 
Never  was  there  a  history  in  which  God's  working 
was  so  manifest,  never  was  there  a  nation  whose  evil 
and  whose  good  was  so  suggestive.  Long  may  it  be 
before  ministers  stop  preaching  and  people  stop 
thinking  about  the  ancient  Hebrews.  It  would  be 
the  closing  of  the  sublimest  leaves  of  the  long  human 
storv.    We  cannot  know  how  much  flatter,  vulgarer. 


52  UNSEEN  SPIRITUAL  HELPERS. 

and  tamer  these  halls  of  our  common  humanity 
would  seem  if  they  no  longer  felt  the  tread  and 
echoed  to  the  voices  of  the  giants  of  the  Old  Testa- 
ment— Abraham,  Moses,  David,  Elijah,  Jeremiah. 

Our  story  to-day  is  of  EHsha.  Let  me  recall  it  to 
you  in  its  few  facts,  and  then  see  what  it  means, 
and  how  it  touches  all  our  life.  The  king  of 
Syria  was  making  war  upon  the  king  of  Israel,  and 
the  prophet  Elisha  knew  and  exposed  his  plans. 
The  king  sent  out  to  capture  and  destroy  the  trouble- 
some prophet.  He  sent  a  whole  army,  "  horses  and 
chariots  and  a  great  host, ' '  and  they  came  by  night 
and  compassed  the  city  about,  and  when  the  servant 
of  the  man  of  God  was  risen  early  and  gone  forth, 
behold,  an  host  compassed  the  city  both  with  horses 
and  chariots.  And  his  servant  said  unto  him,  "Alas, 
my  master,  how  shall  we  do  ?  "  And  he  answered, 
"  Fear  not,  for  they  that  be  with  us  are  more  than 
they  that  be  with  them."  And  Elisha  prayed,  and 
said,  "  Lord,  I  pray  thee,  open  his  eyes  that  he  may 
see.  And  the  Lord  opened  the  eyes  of  the  young 
man ;  and  he  saw :  and,  behold,  the  mountain  was 
full  of  horses  and  chariots  of  fire  round  about 
Elisha." 

There  is  the  story.  Would  it  not  be  hard  to  lose 
its  majestic  simplicity,  because  it  is  a  Hebrew  story, 
and  what  it  tells  of  happened  long  ago  ?  What 
modern  story  will  rise  up  and  take  its  place  ? 

And  yet  the  essence  of  the  story  belongs  to  every 
time.  That  is  exactly  its  value.  See  what  it  is.  A 
young  man  believes  in  and  follows  the  prophet  of 
God.     He  stands  by  the  cause  of  righteousness  and 


UNSEEN   SPIRITUAL   HELPERS.  53 

truth.  He  does  not  desert  it  when  it  is  attacked. 
He  sees  the  danger  and  he  fears,  but  there  is  no 
sign  that  he  wants  to  run  away.  **  Alas,  how  shall 
I  do  ?  "  he  cries,  with  the  great  host  of  the  enemy 
gathering  about  him  and  his  master.  He  is  in  dan- 
ger and  he  is  in  earnest.  And  then,  a  vision  is 
given  him.  He  sees  what  champions  are  gathered 
in  the  interests  of  truth.  What  seemed  to  be  dark- 
ness and  weakness  becomes  peopled  with  forms  of 
light  and  strength,  and  the  young  man  sees  that  his 
beset  and  persecuted  life  is  really  stronger  than  its 
persecutors,  and  takes  courage  and  stands  by  to  see 
his  enemies  struck  with  blindness  and  thrown  into 
confusion. 

There  is  in  every  young  man's  soul  something 
which  is  to  him  what  Elisha  was  to  the  young  man 
of  our  story — something  prophetic.  The  higher 
nature  through  some  of  its  deep  needs  or  lofty  im- 
pulses is  always  trying  to  open  the  eyes  of  our  lower 
and  despondent  nature  to  see  the  divine  and  hopeful 
powers  which  are  at  work  upon  our  life.  There  is 
in  all  our  temporariness  and  earthliness  something 
which  connects  itself  with  eternity  and  the  spiritual 
life.  This  is  to  the  fearful  and  despondent  part  of 
us  what  the  courageous  prophet  was  to  the  terrified 
young  man.  In  that  conflict  between  hope  and 
fear,  between  courage  and  despair,  which  is  always 
going  on  within  us  when  we  undertake  any  great 
work  and  see  its  dangers,  it  seems  to  me  as  if  we 
could  hear  the  better  and  stronger  part  of  us  plead- 
ing with  God  for  the  worse  and  weaker  part,  as 
Elisha    prayed  for  his    young   servant — "  Lord,   I 


54  UNSEEN   SPIRITUAL   HELPERS. 

pray  thee,  open  his  eyes  that  he  may  see."  And 
when  I  see  the  more  spiritual  and  hopeful  temper  of 
a  community  or  of  the  world  always  struggling  with 
the  blindness  and  fear  that  presses  on  it,  again  it 
seems  as  if  the  prophet  were  begging  in  behalf  ot 
the  duller  sight  and  lower  life  beside  him.  "  Lord, 
open  his  eyes."  If  there  be  any  discouragement  in 
any  good  task,  any  fear  at  the  sight  of  what  a  mul- 
titude of  enemies  beset  every  man's  endeavor  to  do 
right,  if  there  be  dismay  or  disheartenment  in  any 
soul  here,  that  still  is  determined  to  try  to  serve 
God  (and  I  do  not  believe  that  you  can  get  so  many 
people  together  as  there  are  here  without  having 
many  such  souls  among  them),  to  them  I  think  the 
old  Hebrew  story  speaks,  and  I  should  be  very 
thankful  if  I  could  so  unfold  its  meaning  as  to  send 
them  away  with  a  little  better  hope  and  faith  and 
courage. 

Our  subject,  then,  is  this — the  unseen  spiritual 
helpers.  What  are  the  genuine  realities  that  answer 
to  the  horses  and  chariots  that  the  young  man  saw 
when  his  eyes  were  opened  ? 

In  the  first  and  most  general  sense,  then,  I  think 
that  spiritual  help  comes  to  us  when  the  tasks  and 
duties  of  our  life  show  us  their  real  purposes  and 
meanings.  Each  of  us  is  engaged  in  doing  some- 
thing in  this  world,  and  here  this  morning,  in  the 
church's  wide  charity,  we  will  suppose  that  every- 
one of  us  is  trying  to  do  faithfully  his  special  work. 
There  are  school-boys  and  school-girls  with  their 
lessons,  and  men  with  their  businesses,  and  men 
with  their  patients  and  their  clients,   fathers  and 


UNSEEN  SPIRITUAL  HELPERS.  55 

mothers  with  their  children,  church  officers  with 
their  cares  for  the  church — all  of  us  with  our  various 
connections  with  one  another  that  burst  out  every- 
where with  duties.  And  I  do  not  suppose  that  any 
of  us  keep  constantly  in  such  sympathetic  relation 
to  our  occupations  that  the  form  of  our  occupations 
does  not  often  present  itself  to  us  as  an  enemy.  It 
seems  to  be  trying  to  crush  us,  the  routine,  the 
drudgery,  the  hardship  of  what  we  have  to  do ;  we 
feel  our  life  slowly  being  pressed  out  of  us  by  the 
hard  tyranny  of  our  work.  And  then  what  comes  ? 
The  only  thing  that  can  defend  us  against  the 
tyranny  of  the  form  is  the  power  of  the  spirit  of  our 
work.  If  you  had  a  business  friend  who  seemed  to 
you  most  in  danger  of  being  conquered  by  the  form 
of  his  business  life,  as  so  many  are,  of  being  made 
mean  and  narrow  and  machine-like,  how  would  you 
try  to  save  him  ?  Would  you  not  feel  sure  that 
if  you  could  make  him  feel  the  most  sacred  pur- 
poses of  business  life,  such  unselfish  purposes,  as 
charity,  and  the  public  weal,  and  the  culture  of 
character,  you  would  have  armed  him  against  the 
lower  influences  of  his  trade  most  safely  ?  These 
are  the  champions  he  needs.  In  every  occupation 
which  a  man  has  any  right  to  be  engaged  in  in  this 
world  there  is  a  spirit  that  underlies  the  form,  and 
it  is  only  by  appealing  to  the  protection  of  the  spirit 
that  we  can  truly  strengthen  ourselves  against  the 
despotisms  of  the  form.  We  grow  afraid,  I  think, 
of  the  form  of  everything  we  do,  even  our  worship, 
so  that  the  tongue  falters  at  the  formal  prayer,  for 
fear  lest  its  act  of  reverence  should  be  the  most 


56  UNSEEN  SPIRITUAL  HELPERS. 

irreverent.  What  shall  we  do  in  such  a  world  of 
danger  ?  And  then,  when  the  Lord  opens  our  eyes 
to  see  the  souls  of  these  hard,  formal  things,  and 
we  discover  how  they  are  always  trying  to  protect 
their  servants  from  the  oppression  of  formality,  and 
so  we  take  courage  for  our  tasks  again,  is  not  that, 
over  again,  the  blessed  vision  that  the  Lord  showed 
to  Elisha's  servant  when  Elisha  prayed  ?  Is  it  not 
as  if  we  saw  horses  and  chariots  upon  the  mountains 
stronger  than  the  horses  and  chariots  which  we  see 
here  upon  the  plain  ?  We  learn  that  the  spirit  is 
stronger  than  the  form,  and  we  take  courage.  What 
prayer  could  his  best  friend  ask  for  a  young  man,  in 
the  sordid  dangers  of  this  common  life,  than  just 
this  "  Lord,  I  pray  thee,  open  his  eyes  that  he  may 
see  always  the  spiritual  meanings  and  purposes  of 
the  things  thou  givest  him  to  do  ?  "  If  that  prayer 
is  answered,  he  must  go  forth  with  a  brave,  pro- 
tected soul. 

But  while  this  certainly  is  true,  it  is  not  the  main 
thing;  it  would  not  come  to  much  if  there  were  not 
very  much  more  behind  it.  When  we  speak  of  our 
spiritual  helpers,  we  mean  most  of  all  those  actually 
existent  beings,  those  persons  living  a  higher  life  than 
ours,  whose  life  is  capable  of  touching  ours  and  aid- 
ing it,  the  knowledge  of  whose  existence  and  whose 
readiness  to  help  us  makes  us  more  brave  to  face  the 
dangers  that  we  meet  with  because  we  are  not  facing 
them  alone.  Of  all  such  beings,  whether  there  be 
only  one  or  multitudes,  who  can  be  made  known  to 
us,  one  stands  above  all  others,  one  stands  eternally 
alone,  because  all  others  get  whatever  help  they  have 


UNSEEN   SPIRITUAL   HELPERS.  $7 

to  give  us  primarily  from  Him ;  they  are  His  instru- 
ments and  ministers.  That  one  is  God.  The  true 
unveiUng  of  the  human  eye,  the  true  sight  that  gives 
courage  to  a  human  heart,  is  the  sight  of  the  Divine 
Father  standing  above  all  our  struggling  life,  look- 
ing down  into  it  with  love,  with  pity,  and  ready  to 
strike  down  our  enemies  the  moment  that  they  grow 
too  strong  for  us.  Get  what  support  we  may  out 
of  the  essential  dignity  and  spirituality  of  our  work 
itself,  still  its  great  spiritual  m.eaning  must  always 
be  that  it  was  given  us  to  do  by  God  our  Father. 
That  is  its  real  beauty.  That  is  its  true  glory.  And 
so  our  first  discovery  of  spiritual  help  was  really  only 
an  anticipation  of  this,  the  great  strength  of  a  soul 
which  comes  to  the  sight  of  a  father  and  knows  that 
it  is  not  fighting  alone  but  God  watches  and  works 
for  it  above.  It  is  the  bewildered  soldier  looking 
up  out  of  the  dust  and  smoke  and  blood,  and  seeing 
his  captain  standing  calm  and  watchful  up  there 
where  he  can  survey  the  whole  field  and  manage  the 
whole  battle. 

This  is  the  wonder  of  the  life  of  Jesus  Christ. 
The  incarnation  was  the  close  meeting  of  God  and 
man.  They  had  been  struggling  together.  Man 
had  been  fitfully  reaching  out  after  God.  God  had 
been  patiently  offering  himself  to  man  from  the 
beginning.  In  Jesus  Christ  they  met.  What  was 
the  issue  ?  A  perfectly  strong  and  brave  humanity ! 
What  made  that  humanity  so  brave  and  strong  ? 
Was  it  not  this,  that  it  was  always  seeing  God  ? 
We  think  it  strange  that  Jesus  could  stand  so 
bravely  before  the  Pharisees  and  the  Romans  and 


58  UNSEEN  SPIRITUAL  HELPERS. 

feel  no  fear.  Was  it  strange  if  His  Father  were 
closer  to  Him  than  Romans  and  Pharisees  all  the 
while  and  hid  them  from  Him ;  if  the  trumpets  and 
the  chariots  upon  the  mountain  were  so  loud  in  His 
ears  that  He  could  not  hear  the  clatter  of  the  hosts 
upon  the  plain?  Our  Pharisees  are  so  much  nearer 
and  clearer  to  us  than  our  Father.  The  secret  of 
courage  is  so  simple  after  all.  We  do  not  fear  the 
danger  when  we  see  the  defence,  so  that  courage — 
anything  above  the  mere  animal  courage  of  the  sav- 
age— is  clear-sightedness.  And  yet  men  talk  as  if 
the  belief  in  a  protecting  Father,  a  true  God,  were 
a  mere  matter  for  discussion  and  debate,  and  did  not 
tell  right  home  upon  the  strength  and  grace  and 
happiness  of  every  human  life. 

But  let  us  be  a  little  more  definite.  We  say  that 
*'  seeing  God  "  is  the  source  and  secret  of  all  true 
courage.  What  do  we  really  mean  by  seeing  God  ? 
As  soon  as  we  own  that  the  sight  of  the  bodily  eyes 
is  impossible,  we  own  that  there  is  a  figurative  ele- 
ment in  the  expression.  Let  us  see  what  it  is.  To 
see  God,  then,  I  think,  may  be  separated  into  these 
three  elements.  First,  it  is  to  recognize  His  char- 
acter as  the  ruling  law  of  the  universe.  The  quali- 
ties of  God  we  know.  They  are  involved  in  our 
very  conception  of  Him.  He  is  righteous,  just, 
loving,  true,  pure.  Now  when  your  eyes  are  opened, 
you  see  these  divine  principles  running  everywhere. 
All  history  is  the  story  of  their  development ;  all  life 
is  hung  upon  them.  Their  imperiousness  and  love- 
liness appear  on  every  side.  You  look  down  into 
every  cleft  of  life  and  there  they  lie  under  all.    You 


UNSEEN  SPIRITUAL  HELPERS.  $9 

look  in  through  every  shell  of  life,  and  there  they 
work  behind  all.  They  are  everywhere.  God  is 
everywhere.     And  seeing  them  you  see  God. 

And,  secondly,  to  see  God  is  to  see  God's  pur- 
poses in  everything.  The  two  are  one  in  essence, 
but  different  in  apprehension.  But  when  the  world 
opens  to  you  as  a  plan  of  God,  when  all  existence  is 
vocal  with  His  meanings,  when  His  intentions  thread 
the  universe,  so  that  he  who  reads  human  progress, 
in  its  largeness  or  its  littleness,  reads  God's  will; 
that,  again,  is  seeing  God. 

And  still  more  to  see  God  is  to  be  conscious  of 
our  own  spiritual  relations  to  Him,  to  know  as  a 
comfort  and  a  motive  that  He  loves  us,  to  be  sur- 
rounded with  His  companionship,  to  find  that  what 
we  do  depends  not  merely  upon  what  He  is  but 
upon  His  being  present  with  us;  in  a  word,  to  love 
our  Father  with  an  active  love — that  is  a  life  for 
which  the  devout  soul  finds  no  adequate  description 
but  that  it  is  "  seeing  God." 

This,  then,  is  what  we  mean  by  "  seeing  God." 
It  is  to  have  the  whole  world  as  we  think  of  it,  as 
we  live  in  it,  full  of  His  character,  His  purposes,  and 
His  love.  Do  we  not  understand,  then,  what  we 
mean  when  we  say  that  Jesus  Christ  in  His  incarna- 
tion was  the  prophet  by  whom  such  a  sight  of  God 
became  possible  to  men.  He  brought  the  righteous- 
ness of  God  and  made  it  manifest,  a  clear  fact  where 
all  men  could  read  it.  He  laid  it  like  a  new  silver 
light  across  the  murky  surfaces  that  we  were  all 
familiar  with.  He  made  the  lives  of  fishermen  and 
publicans  the  scaffolding  on  which  He  hung  its  ex- 


6o  UNSEEN  SPIRITUAL  HELPERS. 

hibition.  And  so,  too,  He  made  the  purposes  oi 
God  the  great  important  lives  along  which  all  exist- 
ence ran.  He  let  us  see  that  the  course  of  the 
great  nations  and  the  current  of  quiet  lives  were  all 
running  the  way  that  one  supreme  and  omnipresent 
will  had  chosen.  And  of  the  love  of  God,  what 
shall  we  say  ?  He  wove  its  records  everywhere. 
He  spun  it  in  the  color  of  the  lily  and  made  us  hear 
it  in  the  noiseless  fall  of  the  sparrow.  He  made  all 
sorrow  and  all  joy  its  ministers.  And  then  at  last 
He  hung  it  on  a  cross  so  high  that  no  pride  could 
tower  so  high  as  to  overlook  it,  so  low  that  no  most 
abject  humility  could  fall  so  low  as  not  to  be  within 
its  light.  This  is  what  Jesus  did.  He  did  not  bring 
God  into  the  world.  God  forbid  we  should  think 
that !  God  had  never  been  out  of  the  world  He 
made  and  loved.  He  touched  the  world  with  His 
life  and  made  it  everywhere  a  luminous  utterance  of 
God.  And  then,  what  else  ?  He  opened  the  blind 
eyes  of  every  man  who  would  become  His  servant, 
and  bid  him  see.  He  regenerated  man.  He  brought 
him  back,  that  is,  into  the  first  condition,  lost  so 
long,  in  which  his  eyes  were  open  and  he  could  see 
the  God  who  was  everywhere.  "  To  as  many  as 
believed  Him,  to  them  gave  He  power  to  become 
the  Sons  of  God."  He  redeemed  man.  He  brought 
him  back  into  the  Eden  of  the  perfect  reconciliation. 
Once  more  he  might  see  God.  No  longer  with  the 
eyes  of  sense  but  all  the  more  clearly  to  the  inner 
vision  of  the  renewed  obedient  soul,  the  Lord  God 
walked  with  man  among  the  trees  of  the  garden  of 
the  Christian  life. 


UNSEEN   SPIRITUAL   HELPERS.  6l 

How  else  shall  we  explain  the  courage  which  is 
always  coming  to  the  weakest  and  most  timid  Chris- 
tian hearts  ?  We  are  here  frightened  and  perplexed 
with  the  distresses  and  the  enemies,  the  doubts  and 
the  disasters  of  our  lives;  we  are  beset  on  every 
side.  And  then  we  cry  out  to  our  master  and  our 
prophet,  "  What  shall  we  do  ?  "  And  He  prays  to 
His  Father  for  us.  "  Lord,  I  pray  thee,  open  his 
eyes  that  he  may  see."  He  prays  His  own  media- 
torial prayer,  "  Father,  I  will  that  they  whom  Thou 
hast  given  me  to  be  with  me  where  I  am,  that  they 
may  see  my  glory  which  Thou  hast  given  me." 
And  then  God  does  open  our  eyes  and  we  see  Him 
in  Christ  even  as  Christ  sees  Him,  and  the  world 
cannot  terrify  us  or  make  us  afraid,  for  the  Friend 
we  see  above  is  stronger  and  more  real  than  the 
enemy  we  see  below,  and  we  rest  in  the  satisfied 
knowledge  of  His  righteousness  and  will  and  love, 
the  satisfied  sight  of  Him. 

And  now  can  we  not  go  farther  still  when  we  are 
talking  of  our  unseen  spiritual  helpers  ?  We  go 
with  timid  feet,  not  sure  of  the  ground  we  walk  on 
and  yet  sure  that  there  is  ground,  and  irresistibly 
impelled  to  feel  for  it  and  find  it.  We  cannot  sepa- 
rate ourselves  from  the  great  human  conviction  that 
beside  the  supreme  personal  life  of  God,  which  is  the 
source  of  all  existence,  there  are  other  spiritual  be- 
ings, of  many  varying  orders,  who  do  His  will,  who 
help  His  children,  and  are  the  emanations  of  his  life 
in  other  worlds  as  man  is  here  in  this  grosser  world 
of  flesh  and  blood.     The  divine  existence  multiplies 


62  UNSEEN   SPIRITUAL  HELPERS. 

itself.  The  company  of  spiritual  beings  who  sur- 
round  Him  with  their  loyalty  and  love,  the  angels 
in  countless  orders  sweeping  upward  from  the  minis- 
ters of  man's  lower  wants  up  to  those  who  stand 
nearest  to  the  throne — all  these  in  some  belief  or 
other  have  been  included  in  the  faith  of  every  race 
of  men,  of  almost  every  man,  who  had  come  to  the 
knowledge  of  a  spiritual  world  and  trusted  in  a  God. 
We  must  not  rob  ourselves  of  the  strength  and  rich- 
ness that  the  thought  of  their  existence  has  to  give. 

What  shall  we  say,  for  instance,  of  the  beings 
whom  the  young  man  saw  gathered  in  the  mountain 
when  his  eyes  were  open  ?  Were  they  flesh  and 
blood  warriors  like  the  Syrian  army  camped  there  in 
the  plain  below  ?  Were  they  mere  ideas,  visions 
that  had  no  objective  reality  whatever,  the  mere 
pictures  of  a  dream  ?  If  we  had  not  become  such 
Sadducees  in  our  disbelief  of  spiritual  existence, 
we  should  not  find  it  hard  to  believe  that  it  was 
neither  of  these  but  that  with  his  newly-opened  eyes 
he  did  indeed  see  beings  of  some  higher  spiritual 
order,  who  are  always  busy  about  this  world  of  ours, 
only  not  visible  to  the  dull  senses  of  our  ordinary 
life. 

Certainly  there  is  nothing  clearer  or  more  striking 
in  the  Bible  than  the  calm,  familiar  way  with  which 
from  end  to  end  it  assumes  the  present  existence  of 
a  world  of  spiritual  beings  always  close  to  and  acting 
on  this  world  of  flesh  and  blood.  It  does  not  belong 
to  any  one  part  of  the  Bible.  It  runs  throughout  its 
whole  vast  range.  From  creation  to  judgment,  the 
spiritual  beings  are  forever  present.     They  act  as 


UNSEEN   SPIRITUAL   HELPERS.  63 

truly  in  the  drama  as  the  men  and  women  who  with 
their  unmistakable  humanity  walk  the  sacred  stage 
in  the  successive  scenes.  There  is  nothing  of  hesi- 
tation about  the  Bible's  treatment  of  the  spiritual 
world.  There  is  no  reserve,  no  vagueness  which 
would  leave  a  chance  for  the  whole  system  to  be 
explained  away  into  dreams  and  metaphors.  The 
spiritual  world  with  all  its  multitudinous  existence  is 
just  as  real  as  the  crowded  cities,  and  the  fragrant 
fields  and  the  loud  battle-grounds  of  the  visible  and 
palpable  Judea  in  which  the  writers  of  the  sacred 
books  were  living.  You  take  away  the  unseen 
world  with  all  its  unseen  actors  from  the  story,  and 
you  have  not  merely  made  the  Bible  like  other  books, 
you  have  set  it  below  other  books,  for  you  have 
taken  the  color  out  of  all  its  life,  the  motive  out  of 
all  its  action. 

But  then  the  Bible  goes  farther.  It  not  merely 
believes  in  and  everywhere  assumes  the  existence  of 
spiritual  beings.  It  believes  that  to  certain  condi- 
tions even  of  our  fleshly  humanity  these  beings  be- 
come visible.  There  is  an  opening  of  the  eyes  that 
lets  us  see  what  is  going  on  in  this  finer,  purer  region 
round  about  us  all  the  time.  Is  not  this  the  idea  of 
life  that  the  Bible  gives  us,  as  if  we  were  blind  men 
walking  in  the  midst  of  a  great  city,  hearing  its 
noise,  feeling  its  jostling,  and  now  and  then  in  some 
peculiar  moments  of  our  life  opening  our  eyes,  catch- 
ing one  sudden  flash  of  the  movement  that  is  going 
on  around  us  and  then  shutting  them  again  and  tak- 
ing the  moment's  sight  back  with  us  into  the  dark- 
ness, to  ponder  over,  and  too  often,  by  and  by,  to 


64  UNSEEN   SPIRITUAL  HELPERS. 

come  to  doubt  about  whether  we  really  saw  it.  So 
here  and  there  an  eye  is  opened.  A  man  or  woman 
in  the  Bible  is  found  in  fit  condition  and  to  that 
deeper  sense  it  is  recorded  that  spiritual  beings 
made  themselves  visible,  as  if  it  were  no  stranger 
thing  than  for  the  opened  eye  of  the  flesh  to  see  the 
sparkling  splendor  of  the  Temple  and  the  Mount  of 
Olives  and  the  high  priest  walking  down  the  street, 
and  all  the  familiar  scenery  of  Jerusalem.  The 
Hebrew  maiden  is  about  her  pure  and  simple  life  in 
Nazareth,  and  she  opens  her  eyes  and  sees  the  mes- 
senger who  hails  her  as  the  highly  favored  of  her 
Lord ;  the  shepherds  are  watching  in  the  fields  and 
suddenly  they  see  the  angels  as  truly  and  as  clearly 
as  they  see  the  stars.  The  women  go  to  the  sepul- 
chre and  there  sit  the  ministers  beside  the  place 
where  Jesus  lay.  Paul  rides  towards  Damascus, 
and  lo !  he  has  fallen  from  his  horse  and  hears  a 
voice  which  is  intelligible  to  him  alone.  What  shall 
we  say  ?  There  is  no  doubt  of  what  the  Bible 
teaches,  and  it  is  what  the  human  heart,  taught  by 
God  through  its  own  deepest  instincts,  has  always 
guessed  at  and  believed,  that  this  world  of  fleshly 
life  is  not  all,  that  everywhere  there  is  a  realm  of 
spiritual  life  close  to  us,  and  that  there  is  an  inner 
sense  to  which,  when  it  is  wakened,  these  spiritual 
beings  have  often  been  actually  visible  and  given 
words  of  cheer  and  guidance  and  encouragement  to 
toiling  and  discouraged  men. 

Can  we  believe  anything  like  that  ?  I  am  sure  as 
we  portray  its  possibility,  we  have  some  sense  of 
more  enlargement  and  richness  in  the  universe,  at 


UNSEEN   SPIRITUAL   HELPERS.  65 

feast  in  our  universe,  in  what  concerns  our  life. 
The  narrow  walls  of  the  moral  life  are  rolled  back 
and  there  is  more  room  to  act,  more  space  to  breathe. 
The  world  of  the  Bible  opens  with  its  vast  waves  of 
motive  coming  in  like  the  breath  of  the  morning  out 
of  the  regions  of  the  unseen.  The  difference  be- 
tween the  Bible  with  its  tides  of  spiritual  life  and 
the  modern  novel  with  its  narrow  studies  of  human 
character  and  action  as  if  they  were  the  highest 
things  in  the  universe,  this  difference  describes  the 
dignity  of  a  belief  in  living  spiritual  influences  as 
contrasted  with  the  low  and  unenterprising  Sad- 
duceeism  to  which  our  souls  incline. 

But  can  we  believe  anything  like  that  ?  Have 
men  ever  really  seen  and  talked  with  beings  of  a  dif- 
ferent sort  from  ours,  with  spiritual  persons  belong- 
ing to  a  spiritual  region  that  is  always  existing 
though  ordinarily  unseen?  May  not  they  have  been 
mistaken  and  thought  that  they  were  talking  with 
spirits  when  they  really  were  only  talking  with  them 
selves  ?  That  multitudes  of  people  have  made  just 
that  mistake  there  cannot  be  a  shadow  of  doubt. 
Of  course  the  spirit-seeing  faculty,  whatever  it  is, 
may  be  deluded  just  as  the  outward  eye  may  be 
mistaken  and  think  it  sees  colors  when  it  is  only 
sensitive  to  some  excitement  wholly  within  itself.  It 
is  not  necessary  to  credit  every  ghost-story  simply 
because  we  know  that  the  dead  have  been  seen  by  the 
living;  that  Peter  and  James  and  John  did  indeed 
see  Moses  and  Elias  on  the  Mountain  of  Transfigura- 
tion. But  one  such  certain  story  does  break  open 
the  seeming  impossibility.     It  does  put  us  where 


66  UNSEEN  SPIRITUAL  HELPERS. 

(with  all  the  rareness  that  we  may  feel  belongs  to 
such  conditions) — none  of  us  can  venture  to  say 
that  never  again  shall  mortal  eye  look  on  the  forms 
of  immortality  or  mortal  ear  listen  to  words  uttered 
from  the  lips  of  spiritual  beings  who  have  passed 
out  of  these  lower  regions  by  the  door  of  death. 
But  that  is  not  the  chief  thing  that  it  gives  us. 
That  is  not  the  blessing  that  we  value,  such  very 
vague  expectation  of  an  uttered  word  out  of  or  a 
clear  sight  into  the  world  of  spirits,  A  true  accept- 
ance of  the  whole  Bible  idea  of  ever-present  spiritual 
life  would  not  set  us  to  watching  for  the  apparitions 
of  the  dead  or  for  the  sight  of  angels,  but  it  would 
give  us  the  strength  which  comes  to  every  work  and 
suffering  from  the  knowledge  that  this  universe  is 
larger  than  it  seems  and  that  it  is  all  peopled  with 
spiritual  existences  who  are  God's  ministers  to  en- 
lighten and  to  feed  our  life.  The  consciousness  of 
many  spiritual  helpers  must  come  although  they  are 
not  shown  to  us  in  any  vision.  Enough  that  men 
have  looked  and  seen  through  some  break  in  the 
cloud  the  comforting,  defending  spirits  who  are 
doing  the  will  of  God  in  man's  behalf.  The  brave 
man  need  not  see  any  celestial  form  with  spear  and 
helmet  by  his  side,  yet  he  may  know  as  he  goes  out 
to  the  battle  that  the  spirits  of  justice  everywhere 
are  sympathising  with  him  and  helping  him  in  un- 
known ways.  The  mother  may  not  discern  an  angel 
bending  over  the  bed  on  which  her  child  is  laid,  but 
still  she  may  know  that  there  are  other  watchers  by 
its  bed  beside  herself,  spirits  whom  God  has  sent  to 
see  that  none  of  his  little  ones  take  any  harm.    The 


UNSEEN  SPIRITUAL  HELPERS.  6y 

soul  in  its  bereavement  may  not  look  to  see  here 
again  the  very  presence  and  features  of  the  friend 
whom  God  has  taken,  yet  still  may  be  sure  that 
even  now  companionship  with  that  dead  but  living 
friend  is  something  more  and  richer  than  merely 
memory  of  what  he  was  or  anticipation  of  the  reun- 
ion in  some  far-off  time;  that  even  now,  in  such 
unknown  ways  as  soul  may  present  itself  to  soul, 
his  friend  is  with  him,  for  encouragement  and 
strength. 

Such  helps  as  these  the  knowledge  that  there  is  a 
world  of  spiritual  beings  interested  in  and  busied 
about  the  things  that  concern  us  in  this  world  of 
time  may  give  us.  And  I  cannot  but  think  that  it 
will  change  our  whole  idea  of  death.  Surrounded 
by  this  spiritual  life  and  yet  seeing  it  only  here  and 
there  through  broken  gaps  of  this  enveloping  mor- 
tality, what  will  it  be  for  us  to  die  ?  Only  to  cast 
this  mortality  away  and  stand  face  to  face  with  the 
realities  that  have  been  close  to  us  all  the  while. 
All  that  has  mocked  us  with  half  glimpses,  all  that 
has  flashed  before  our  eyes  and  darkened  again  so 
suddenly  that  we  have  hardly  dared  to  remember 
that  we  saw  it,  all  that  has  haunted  our  hopes  and 
clung  to  us  in  spite  of  the  cold  Sadducee  contempt- 
uousness  of  the  world — all  this  real  to  us,  the  only 
reality,  permanent  and  real  forever.  All  spiritual 
companionship,  all  unknown  spiritual  protection 
that  has  been  blessing  us  in  the  darkness  opened 
suddenly  into  the  light  so  that  we  see  it  all  and 
enter  on  the  new  life  that  begins  with  death. 
Death,  then,  is  the  enlightener.     It  opens  the  eyes 


68  UNSEEN   SPIRITUAL   HELPERS. 

to  see  the  things  that  are.  It  is  not  the  carrying 
of  the  soul  away  to  some  island-planet  or  some  un- 
found  place  beyond  the  sun.  Whatever  be  its  mys- 
tery of  place  (and  that  we  cannot  know  till  we  know 
something  of  what  place  means  to  the  disembodied 
spirit),  the  essential  thing  concerning  death  must  be 
that  it  opens  the  closed  eyes,  draws  down  the  veil 
of  blinding  mortality  and  lets  the  man  see  spiritual 
things.  This  seems  to  me  to  change  the  question 
that  we  ask  about  dying,  and  make  it  so  much 
deeper  and  truer.  It  is  no  longer  where  shall  I  go 
when  I  am  dead  ?  but,  what  shall  I  be  ?  And  so 
character  and  the  power  of  higher  vision  and  higher 
education  instead  of  circumstances,  condition,  and 
locality  become  our  study  for  this  life  and  our  ambi- 
tion for  the  life  to  come. 

And  now  have  we  not  come  to  this,  that  there  are 
two  ways  to  fight  the  great  battle  of  life — two  differ- 
ent kinds  of  fighters?  One  man  fights  in  the  light, 
another  in  the  darkness.  One  man  is  always  cogni- 
zant of  the  principles  of  the  work  he  is  engaged  in, 
always  conscious  of  God  and  of  the  ministries  that 
God  employs  to  bless  and  influence  his  life.  When- 
ever he  is  afraid  these  presences  rise  up  to  reassure 
him.  Whenever  the  cause  looks  desperate  he  turns 
to  the  mountain  and  there  are  these  hosts  of  the 
spiritual  life.  The  other  man  knows  nothing  of  it 
all ;  he  fights  a  despairing  battle ;  his  heart  is  full  of 
fear.  Tell  me,  which  is  the  safest,  which  is  the 
strongest  life?  I  do  not  say  that  the  man  who  does 
not  see  these  higher  things  is  all  the  same  as  if  they 


UNSEEN   SPIRITUAL  HELPERS.  69 

did  not  exist.  I  am  sure  that  God  and  His  angels 
help  many  a  struggler  who  does  not  know  where  the 
help  comes  from.  But  when  we  see  so  many  men 
cowards  who  ought  to  be  brave,  so  many  discour- 
aged who  ought  to  be  jubilant  and  certain  of  success, 
when  we  know  what  a  life  all  these  men  might  be 
living  if  they  only  really  saw  these  things — who  will 
not  pray  for  every  brother,  "  Lord,  I  pray  thee, 
open  his  eyes  that  he  may  see  "?  Who  will  not  go 
far  and  wide  telling  his  brethren  of  the  great  things 
God  has  to  show  them  ?  We  are  not  asking  God  to 
make  a  spiritual  world  for  us,  only  to  let  us  see  it  as 
it  is.  We  do  not  pray  God  to  love  us,  but  we  do 
pray  that  we  may  so  see  His  love  that  we  shall  love 
Him  back  again  and  be  saved  by  loving. 

Be  your  own  prophet  and  pray  it  for  yourself. 
Let  your  highest  needs  plead  with  God  to  enlighten 
your  lower  nature,  as  Elisha  plead  for  his  servant. 
Pray  for  yourself,  "  Lord,  that  I  might  receive  my 
sight  !  " 

For  there  are  better  things  to  see  if  you  can  only 
see  them.  And  the  reason  that  you  do  not  see 
them  now  is  not  that  God  hides  them,  but  that  our 
eyes  are  blind.  Let  us  cry  after  Christ  the  Revealer, 
as  Bartimeus  cried  after  Him  at  Jericho,  and  He 
will  stop  and  speak  to  us,  no  matter  who  remon- 
strates. "  Receive  thy  sight,  thy  faith  hath  saved 
thee,"  He  will  say,  and  we  shall  begin  to  see  the 
higher  and  the  deeper  things,  and  to  take  courage 
and  be  strong.  We  shall  enter  on  that  path  of  the 
just  which  is  as  a  shining  light  that  shineth  more  and 
more  unto  the  perfect  day. 


V. 

HEAVENLY  WISDOM. 

"  I  said  I  will  be  wise  :  but  it  was  far  from  me." — ECCLESIASTES 
»ii.  23. 

The  writer  of  the  book  of  Ecclesiastes  calls  him- 
self in  our  English  version  "The  Preacher."  It 
would  be  a  more  accurate  translation  if  he  were 
called  the  Ponderer  or  the  Debater.  His  book  is  a 
discussion  of  the  deepest  things  of  life,  all  grouped 
around  and  centering  upon  his  personal  experience. 
In  this  verse  he  looks  back  and  remembers.  He  is 
perhaps  an  old  man  as  he  writes  and  the  days  of  his 
long-past  youth  come  back  to  him.  He  remembers 
how  bravely  he  set  out  in  the  search  after  wisdom. 
"  I  said  I  will  be  wise  "  ;  and  then  how  sadly  comes 
in  the  brief  and  summary  record  of  the  disappoint- 
ment, "  but  it  was  far  from  me." 

How  easy  the  struggle,  which  afterward  ended  in 
failure,  had  evidently  seemed  to  the  young  soul  when 
it  was  undertaken.  "  I  said  I  will  be  wise." 
There  is  an  almost  jaunty  air  about  the  words.  It 
is  as  if  he  were  talking  of  a  holiday  excursion,  some- 
thing that  could  be  carried  through  with  flying  flags 
and  untorn  clothes,  as  if  the  eye  saw  the  prize  hang- 

70 


HEAVENLY  WISDOM.  7 1 

ing  close  by  it  there  upon  the  goal  and  started  out 
to  win  it  with  a  few  quick  steps.  "  I  will  be  wise." 
We  almost  see  the  hand  grasping  the  garland  of 
wisdom  as  he  speaks.  And  then  behold  !  all  changes. 
The  prize  draws  away.  It  becomes  distant  and 
more  distant  the  longer  that  he  reaches  for  it.  "  It 
was  far  from  me."  Until  at  last  he  hardly  can 
believe  that  he  is  the  same  man  who  once  set  out 
so  bravely. 

And  yet  how  good  he  must  have  felt  it  to  be  for 
all  his  life  that  there  had  once  been  a  time  in  his 
life  when  he  had  felt  it  easy  to  be  wise.  Will  you 
take  your  youth,  all  afire  with  some  great  wish,  all 
keen  to  run  the  race  of  life,  and  bid  him  sit  down  by 
your  side  while  you  tell  him  in  full  just  what  he  will 
have  to  meet  before  he  comes  to  the  goal.  That 
were  the  cruellest  and  most  foolish  wisdom.  It  is 
a  blessed  thing  that  at  the  start  the  world  looks 
easy.  If  it  were  not  so  who  would  dare  to  begin. 
The  parable  indeed  bids  the  man  who  is  about  to 
build  to  count  the  cost.  It  is  warning  against 
one  kind  of  danger,  but  the  man  who  is  in  business 
and  the  man  who  is  in  life  knows  that  there  is 
another  kind  of  danger  which  is  no  less  fatal  to  suc- 
cess. He  who  begins  without  counting  the  cost 
comes  to  sorrow,  but  he  who  insists  on  having  every 
dollar  in  his  hand  before  he  starts  never  begins. 
The  real  counting  of  the  cost  which  the  young  man 
makes  is  in  the  feeling  of  power,  in  the  leap  of 
blood  within  his  veins.  That  tells  him  life  is  easy. 
If  he  could  keep  that,  elevating  it  and  toughening  it 
with  the  accumulations  of    experience,   life  would 


72  HEAVENLY   WISDOM. 

be  easy  to  the  end.  As  it  is,  a  very  great  deal  of 
life  gets  done  before  the  man  finds  out  that  life  is 
hard.  A  good  start  in  the  race  is  run  before  the 
man  begins  to  faint  because  he  sees  the  course  is 
long.  Alas  for  any  of  us  if  behind  the  weary, 
anxious,  half-discouraged  struggles  after  wisdom 
which  have  filled  our  life  there  did  not  lie  the 
memory  of  a  bright  time  when  we  easily  said  to 
ourselves,  "  I  will  be  wise,"  as  if  we  were  going  to 
do  it  before  night. 

Another  thing  which  strikes  us  about  this  wish  of 
Ecclesiastes  is,  what  an  old  wish  it  is.  There  are 
some  desires  of  mankind  which  are  like  the  old 
countries  of  the  world.  No  man  can  step  ashore  in 
Greece  or  Egypt  or  India  without  feeling  how  old  is 
the  atmosphere  he  breathes  and  the  soil  on  which 
he  treads.  It  has  seen  so  much  of  human  history. 
It  has  felt  the  beating  of  such  generations  of  human 
hearts,  this  ancient  land,  this  venerable  home  of 
men.  Sometimes  it  weighs  oppressively  upon  us  and 
it  seems  as  if  we  could  not  breathe  the  heavy  much- 
breathed  air.  Sometimes  the  whole  land  is  mel- 
lowed by  its  long  antiquity  and  life  seems  a  richer 
and  a  deeper  thing  there  than  in  our  newer  lands. 
So  it  is  with  the  old  desires  of  mankind  ;  for  instance 
this  desire  of  wisdom.  When  we  think  how  many 
men,  how  many  centuries  of  men  have  desired  that 
desire,  sometimes  it  makes  our  hearts  sink  with  the 
sense  of  how  hopeless  it  all  is.  Sometimes  it  makes 
our  hearts  glow  with  the  delight  of  sharing  in  the 
wish  which  all  the  noblest  of  our  race  have  felt.  In 
either  way  it  deepens  the  act  of  wishing  and  makes 


HEAVENLY   WISDOM.  73 

it  a  more  solemn  and  pathetic  thing.  It  would  be  a 
great  thing  for  a  man  to  find  himself  wishing  for 
something  which  he  was  perfectly  sure  that  no  man 
had  ever  wished  before.  It  would  have  all  the  ex- 
hilaration of  pressing  forward  into  a  new  discovered 
and  untrodden  country.  Columbus-like  he  would 
feel  the  whole  new  world  before  him.  But  to  know 
that  our  wish  must  have  been  wished  in  his  own  way, 
in  his  own  degree,  by  every  man  that  ever  lived, 
that  no  man  ever  grew  to  man's  estate  who  did  not 
seek  somehow  this  thing  which  we  are  seeking ;  that, 
if  we  are  truly  human,  makes  our  search  far  more 
rich  and  attractive.  It  surrounds  us  with  the  accu- 
mulated enthusiasm  of  mankind.  It  knits  us  into 
human  sympathy.  It  makes  us  love  the  very 
dangers  of  the  way.  It  lets  us  feel  that  we  are 
seeking  not  a  mere  selfish  triumph,  but  that  we  are 
making  our  little  contribution  to  what  when  it  is 
gained  will  be  the  triumph  of  mankind.  Something 
of  this  sort  we  can  feel  in  all  the  best  seekers  after 
wisdom. 

There  is  another  thought  which  rises  in  our  minds 
when  we  see  a  new  man  stand  up  and  hear  him  say, 

I  will  be  wise!  "  and  think  how  many  men  have 
wished  the  same  before,  and  how  every  one  of  them 
in    large    degree   has   failed    of   what    he    wished. 

What  is  the  relations  "  we  ask,  "  between  a  wish 
in  a  man's  soul  and  the  reality  of  things  ?  "  That 
there  is  some  such  relation  men  have  always  felt. 
The  human  soul  has  always  seemed  to  be  such  a 
mirror  of  the  world,  that  all  which  men  have  found 
firmly  and  constantly  depicted  in  the  wishes  of  the 


74  HEAVENLY  WISDOM. 

human  soul  they  have  felt  sure  must  have  a  fact  cor- 
responding to  it  in  the  universe  of  reality.  The 
strong  and  almost  universal  craving  of  man  for  im- 
mortality has  always  been  taken  to  constitute  a  true 
part  of  the  evidence  that  man  really  is  immortal. 
The  belief  of  man  in  God  has  always  helped  to  prove 
to  men  that  God  exists.  Of  course  we  know  that 
"  the  wish  is  father  to  the  thought,"  and  we  compel 
ourselves  to  be  upon  our  guard  against  the  disposi- 
tion to  believe  that  a  thing  is  true  merely  because  we 
and  other  people  wish  it  were.  Our  human  desire, 
before  it  can  seem  to  be  evidence  of  the  existence  of 
that  which  it  desires,  must  be  very  wide  and  very 
unprejudiced  by  selfishness.  Because  one  century 
has  believed  that  there  must  be  some  way  of  turning 
all  metals  into  gold  or  of  reading  in  the  stars  the 
fates  of  men,  that  does  not  show  that  both  of  those 
ideas  are  not  delusions.  But  when  all  men,  in  every 
age,  in  every  land,  in  every  faith,  turn  with  one  com- 
mon wish  one  way,  not  for  immediate  and  palpable 
advantage,  but  with  an  instinctive  movement  of 
their  natures,  the  conviction  is  irresistible  that 
there  must  be  something  there  which  draws  them. 
There  must  be  an  external  fact  to  which  this  inter- 
nal movement  corresponds.  Where  all  the  needles 
turn  there  must  be  a  pole. 

This  becomes  very  impressive  when  we  apply  it  to 
the  universal  and  eternal  quest  of  man  for  wisdom. 
Somewhere  there  must  be  this  wisdom  which  the 
human  mind  has  always  sought.  Misconceived,  dis- 
torted in  its  reflection  in  the  mirror  though  it  be,  still 
there  is  a  true  wisdom  somewhere  which  the  mind 


HEAVENLY  WISDOM.  75 

of  man  has  always  sought.  The  final  knowledge  and 
character  of  man  when  they  are  reached  are  the 
resultant  of  the  eternal  wisdom  which  has  come 
down  from  above  and  been  accepted  into  this  nature 
made  to  receive  it.  Not  wisdom  alone.  That  were 
too  cold  and  hard  and  distant.  Not  the  soul  alone. 
That  were  too  private  and  personal  and  sentimental. 
But  the  soul  strong  with  wisdom.  Wisdom  warm 
in  the  soul,  this  is  the  dream  that  has  always  haunted 
men's  wishes  and  made  them  forever  repeat,  in  spite 
of  every  disappointment,  the  old  resolve,  "  I  will  be 
wise !  ' ' 

But  it  is  time  for  us  to  turn  and  ask  more  carefully 
just  what  is  meant  by  wisdom  for  which  the  search 
is  so  inveterate  and  universal.  If  we  can  have  that 
clear  in  our  minds  we  shall  be  able  to  understand 
better  the  search  and  its  chances  of  success.  Wis- 
dom, then,  in  general  signifies  all  knowledge  and  the 
intelligent  grasp  of  truth.  But  there  is  a  special 
meaning  of  wisdom,  and  it  is  very  common  in  the 
use  of  the  Bible,  in  which  the  word  signifies  the  ap- 
prehension of  some  great  universal  principle  which 
underlies  all  things,  governs  all  things,  and  by  which 
all  things  are  accounted  for.  We  all  know  how 
deep  the  craving  for  such  a  great  principle  is.  The 
physicist  seeks  for  it  in  nature.  He  tries  to  find 
some  one  great  ruling  law  which  shall  comprehend 
all  the  movements  of  natural  forces  and  give  them 
unity.  The  metaphysician  seeks  for  it  in  man's  con- 
stitution. He  tries  to  find  some  first  principle  which 
shall  harmonize  and  explain  the  contradictions  and 
inconsistencies  of  this  mysterious  being,  man.     The 


"J^  HEAVENLY   WISDOM. 

thoughtful  observer  of  his  own  life  seeks  for  it  there, 
and  is  not  satisfied  unless  he  can  discern  around  all 
the  hundred  little  motives  which  decide  his  daily- 
actions  some  one  great  motive,  out  of  which  they 
all  are  fed,  around  all  the  miscellaneous  force,  some 
one  great  force  of  definite  character  which  identifies 
his  individuality  and  m.akes  him  the  man  he  is. 

It  is  the  desire  for  the  perception  of  some  such 
first  great  principle  or  principles  of  things  which 
really  constitutes  man's  search  for  wisdom.  It  has 
always  had,  and  always  must  have,  strong  fascina- 
tion for  the  human  mind.  All  acquaintance  with 
the  details  of  things,  however  perfect,  must  be  un- 
satisfactory without  this  larger  understanding.  It 
is  the  absence  of  this  which  the  singer  in  Tennyson's 
poem  is  lamenting  when  he  cries  that  "  knowledge 
comes  but  wisdom  lingers,"  the  absence  of  any  in- 
sight which  shall  explain  the  world  and  so  secure  its 
best  use. 

Now  wisdom  in  this  sense  is  what  all  earnest  and 
intelligent  young  spirits  crave,  more  or  less  con- 
sciously, at  the  beginning  of  their  lives.  "  What 
does  it  all  mean  ?  Where  is  the  clue  to  it  ?  Where 
is  the  sacred,  the  mysterious  word  before  the  speak- 
ing of  which  the  closed  heart  of  things  shall  fly  open 
and  the  secret  of  life  be  shown?  I  will  not  rest  till 
I  have  found  it.  I  will  seek  everywhere  and  try  all 
manner  of  experiments  till  it  is  found.  I  will  have 
wisdom.  I  will  be  wise  !  "  To  very  many  men's 
recollection  that  resolution  stands  back  at  the  be- 
ginning of  what  seems  to  have  been  a  very  long 
career.     It  was  clear  and  enthusiastic.     Was  it  not 


HEAVENLY   WISDOM.  ^^ 

just  exactly  the  resolution  of  Ecclesiastes  ?  And 
what  has  come  since  ?  If  in  the  course  of  years  the 
incongruities  and  the  complexities  of  life,  the  moral 
disappointments,  the  failures  of  our  theories  about 
people,  the  fading  away  of  our  hopes  about  our- 
selves, have  altogether  made  us  give  up  the  search 
for  any  such  grasp  of  life ;  if,  gradually  seeming  more 
and  more  difficult  to  find,  it  has  at  last  come  to 
seem  impossible  for  us  to  find  any  such  governing 
and  accounting  principle  for  life — and  so  we  have 
settled  down  to  the  details  of  living,  to  doing  such 
particular  act  by  itself  and  not  as  part  of  any  long 
coherent  plan,  not  inspired  by  any  one  consistent 
hope,  if  this  has  been  our  history — why  it  seems 
to  me  that  we  might  search  all  literature  and  join 
words  together  in  a  thousand  ways  and  we  could 
not  find  or  make  a  more  complete  description  of 
our  lives  than  that  which  is  in  these  few  short  words 
of  Ecclesiastes,  "  I  said  I  will  be  wise,  but  it  was  far 
from  me." 

I  hope  that  I  make  clear  the  difference  between 
two  lives,  one  of  which  is  still  inspired  by,  and  the 
other  of  which  has  abandoned,  the  search  for  wis- 
dom. Behold  how  different  they  are.  One  has  a 
fire  in  its  eye,  a  spring  in  every  movement.  Each 
special  act  is  freed  from  anxious  questioning, 
is  almost  unconscious,  because  it  is  absorbed  in 
and  is  decided  by  the  larger  purpose  of  the  life. 
Where  the  next  footstep  shall  be  set  is  settled 
not  by  the  choice  of  softest  ground  or  greenest 
grass  to  tread  on,  but  by  the  direction  in  which 
lies  the  life's  recognized  and  beckoning  goal.     The 


78  HEAVENLY  WISDOM. 

least  things  become  lofty;  the  worst  disappoint- 
ments may  be  revelations  so  long  as  the  man  is 
saying  "  I  will  be  wise."  When  that  is  done,  when 
the  man  has  begun  to  say  "  It  is  far  from  me,"  then 
everything  falls  to  pieces.  Each  bit  of  life  has  to  be 
valued  by  itself,  and  oh,  how  valuable  it  comes  to 
look.  Yesterday's  fact,  to-day's  frolic,  to-morrow's 
bargain — what  are  they  worth  except  as  mere  be- 
guilements  of  the  hour  ?  We  give  them  artificial 
values.  We  fill  the  search  for  them  with  the  spirit 
of  rivalry  to  keep  its  interest  alive.  Each  day  has 
to  begin  all  over  again.  Our  life  has  no  flow.  It 
lies  in  ponds  and  is  not  like  a  river.  And,  worst  of 
all,  we  grow  distrustful  and  scornful  about  other  men 
who  still  think  that  life  has  a  meaning  when  we  have 
once  ceased  to  seek  the  meaning  of  our  own.  We 
are  ready  to  say  "  There  is  no  wisdom,"  when  we 
have  stopped  saying  "  I  will  be  wise." 

And  what  then  ?  Somehow  or  other  evidently 
this  discouragement  must  get  new  courage,  and  the 
abandoned  search  must  be  taken  up  again.  How 
shall  it  be  ?  I  have  not  spoken  thus  far  of  religion. 
I  have  purposely  talked  as  if  there  were  no  such 
thing  as  religion  in  the  world.  The  search  for  wis- 
dom, as  I  have  spoken  of  it,  is  the  search  for  abstract 
principles,  for  a  plan  to  be  discerned  in  the  structure 
of  the  universe,  in  the  nature  of  things.  That  is  all 
scientific,  not  religious.  Now  when  that  fails  us,  or 
before  that  fails  us,  for  we  would  not  talk  of  religion 
as  if  it  were  a  mere  last  resort,  when  science  fails  us, 
or  before  it  fails  us,  we  turn  to  religion.  Religion 
means  God.     It  can  mean  nothing  less,  nothing  else 


HEAVENLY  WISDOM.  79 

than  that.  Reh'gion  cannot  be  made  abstract.  It 
must  be  personal.  Religion  means  God.  When 
a  man  becomes  religious,  it  is  just  this.  He  puts 
God  before  and  under  and  around  his  life.  How 
cold  and  weak  that  sounds !  When  a  man  becomes 
religious  he  feels  the  God  who  has  been  always 
before  and  under  and  around  his  life,  and  gives 
himself  in  conscious  and  obedient  relationship  to 
Him.  Do  you  not  see  then  what  must  come  ? 
The  first  principle  of  that  man's  life  comes  to 
be  God.  Instead  of  looking  for  a  philosophy, 
a  statement,  a  law  which  will  comprehend  and 
harmonize  his  life,  now  he  looks  for  a  person, 
for  God.  Instead  of  making  wisdom  simply  an 
understanding  of  something  which  can  be  discovered 
by  the  perceptions  or  reasoned  out  by  the  intellect, 
now  he  makes  wisdom  to  be  the  total  acceptance  by 
his  nature  of  that  higher  nature  to  which  it  gives 
itself  in  obedience  and  love.  "  I  will  be  wise  "  now 
means  "  I  will  come  near  to  God.  I  will  know 
Him." 

The  old  Christian  temple  in  Constantinople,  now 
the  central  mosque  of  the  whole  Mussulman  world, 
is  called  "  Saint  Sophia."  It  is  consecrated  to  the 
holy  wisdom.  What  does  its  name  mean  ?  Was  it 
to  the  abstract  love  for  principles,  the  impersonal 
search  for  truth  that  these  stately  and  glowing  walls 
were  reared  in  the  years  when  Christian  faith  was 
earnest  and  alive  ?  Not  so !  It  was  not  a  university 
but  a  church.  It  was  to  something  sacred,  personal, 
divine,  that  it  was  dedicated.  It  was  to  the  wisdom 
which  consisted  in  the  obedient  and  loving  service 


80  HEAVENLY   WISDOM. 

of  the  soul  to  God ;  the  wisdom  which  consisted  in 
the  service  which  every  faculty  could  pay  to  Him, 
the  wisdom  which  found  abundant  explanation  of  the 
world  in  Him !  It  was  to  the  wisdom  by  which 
as  Solomon  sang  "  The  Lord  hath  founded  the 
earth";  that  wisdom  which  does  not  sit  in  the 
schools  and  argue,  but  which  standeth  in  the  top  of 
high  places,  by  the  way  in  the  places  of  the  paths ; 
the  wisdom  of  which  the  fear  of  the  Lord  is  the 
beginning  and  the  end. 

And  now  with  this  new,  this  deeper,  this  religious 
meaning  in  the  words  "  I  will  be  wise,"  does  the 
old  search  become  any  more  hopeful  than  it  was 
before  ?  Now  it  is  a  search  for  God.  But  God  can- 
not be  pictured  as  just  standing  off  there  and  wait- 
ing for  the  soul  to  come  to  Him  and  find  Him.  A 
theory  of  the  universe,  a  comprehensive  truth  of  the 
nature  of  things,  even  that  I  cannot  picture  to  my- 
self as  wholly  dead.  I  have  to  think  of  it  as  some- 
thing in  some  sense  alive  and  reaching  out  with 
some  sort  of  desire  to  make  itself  known  to  the  mind 
that  is  so  blindly  reaching  towards  it.  But  just  as 
soon  as  it  is  not  a  theory  of  the  universe  but  God,  a 
person,  a  soul,  a  love,  a  Father,  then  what  a  differ- 
ent thing  this  life  and  this  outreach  toward  man 
becomes.  Everything  that  being  can  feel  towards 
other  being,  tempting  the  communication  of  his  life, 
is  there.  Personal  love,  the  desire  to  communicate 
and  repeat  himself,  craving  to  drive  out  sin,  to  fill 
imperfection  with  perfection,  to  produce  character, 
to  fulfil  possibility,  all  of  these  unite  in  one  great 
stream  of  effluence  which  comes  pouring  forth  from 


HEAVENLY   WISDOM.  8 1 

God  to  meet  the  soul's  desire  to  be  wise.  All  of 
these  make  the  wisdom  of  God  which  comes  down 
to  satisfy  the  soul  whose  right  it  is  to  crave  that 
wisdom. 

The  wisdom  of  God  !  We  cannot  say  those  words 
without  remembering  that  they  are  used  by  St. 
Paul  of  Jesus  Christ.  "  Christ  the  power  of  God  and 
the  wisdom  of  God,"  he  writes  to  the  Corinthians. 
The  Incarnation  was  the  full  expression  of  this 
pouring  forth  of  the  personal  life  of  God  upon 
the  personal  life  of  man  which  I  have  just  been 
trying  to  describe.  It  came,  He  came,  with  the 
most  overwhelming  revelation  that  God  loved  man, 
that  God  claimed  man.  After  His  coming  no  man 
who  had  caught  the  real  spirit  of  that  great  event 
could  let  himself  think  for  a  moment  that  God  stood 
off  motionless  and  simply  waited  for  the  soul  to  come 
to  Him.  The  whole  universe,  to  the  soul  believing 
in  the  Incarnation,  must  quiver  and  palpitate  with 
God  coming  for  the  soul  of  man. 

Oh,  what  a  difference,  my  friends !  We  talk 
sometimes  as  if  for  a  man  to  come  to  believe  in  the 
Incarnation  was  simply  for  him  to  add  another  arti- 
cle to  his  creed,  perhaps  in  sign  that  such  addition 
had  been  made,  to  transfer  his  name  from  one  set 
of  church  books  to  another,  and  to  submit  to  some 
new  Christian  rite.  It  is  much  more  than  that. 
For  a  man  to  believe  in  the  Incarnation  is  for  the 
world  to  become  to  that  man  afire  with  God.  God 
is  reaching  out  to  him  everywhere.  God  believes  in 
him,  believes  in  the  possibility  of  revealing  Himself 
to  him ;  nay,   of  taking  up  his  abode  within  him. 

6 


82  HEAVENLY   WISDOM. 

Impossibility  floats  off  like  a  melted  cloud.  All 
men  become  sacred.  Whatever  else  man  may  find 
or  fail  to  find,  knowledge,  wealth,  friendship,  power, 
he  may  certainly  find  God,  for  God  is  seeking  him. 
All  this  is  real  to  the  man  who  believes  in  the  Incar. 
nation.  What  right  has  any  such  man  to  be  dis- 
couraged or  dismayed  ? 

Evidently  then  the  search  for  wisdom  becomes 
another  thing  as  soon  as  it  becomes  religious,  as 
soon  as  the  wisdom  for  which  we  seek  is  God,  It 
becomes  full  of  hope,  nay,  it  is  filled  with  certainty. 
I  know  I  shall  be  wise  if  I  can  only  persevere.  But 
there  is  something  else.  Not  merely  the  hopeful- 
ness but  the  whole  character  of  the  search  is  altered. 
It  becomes  moral.  It  is  a  search  for  character. 
And  the  power  and  method  of  it  is  obedience. 
That  is  an  enormous  change.  To  make  the  method 
of  man's  growth  and  attainment  to  be  not  the  acqui- 
sition of  knowledge  but  the  obedience  to  a  perfect 
will,  that  was  an  enormous  change.  It  was  a  trans- 
fer of  human  ambition  to  a  new  region.  It  was  the 
opening  of  human  possibility  on  a  new  side.  It  did 
not  exclude  thought  and  study  and  intellectual 
labor.  It  included  them.  Only  it  made  them  part 
of  the  obedience  of  the  lesser  to  the  greater  soul,  of 
the  child  to  the  father,  of  the  man  to  God. 

One  consequence  of  this  transfer  of  the  field,  this 
change  of  the  character  of  man's  struggle  after  wis- 
dom was  in  the  way  in  which  it  opened  the  possi- 
bility of  that  struggle  to  all  men.  When  "  I  will  be 
wise  "  meant  "  I  will  reach  the  final  principles  of 
things  by  reasoning  and  meditation  "  it  was  areso- 


HEAVENLY   WISDOM.  83 

lution  which  only  a  few  choice  privileged  spirits  in 
each  generation  of  the  world  could  make.  When 
"  I  will  be  wise  "  had  come  to  mean  "  I  will  obey 
God  and  come  near  to  Him,  or  let  Him  come  near 
to  me  by  my  obedience,"  it  was  a  resolution  which 
was  open  to  all  men,  the  weakest  and  the  humblest, 
as  well  as  the  strongest  and  highest,  to  make.  The 
little  child  just  putting  a  trembling  foot  on  to  the 
margin  of  the  vast  plain  of  life ;  the  plough-boy  busy 
at  his  work  without  a  rest  for  thought  from  morn- 
ing till  night,  from  year  to  year,  the  practical  man 
strong  in  affairs  but  with  no  gift  for  abstract  specu- 
lation, the  poor  sick  woman  with  no  strength  left 
but  just  to  suffer — this  new  change  of  the  Gospel 
threw  open  the  gates  of  wisdom  to  them  all.  They 
all  could  be  wise.  Wisdom  not  as  a  luxury,  not  as 
an  ornament,  but  as  a  transformation,  a  regenera- 
tion, an  illumination  of  their  lives — this  was  within 
the  power  of  them  all  when  the  road  into  wisdom 
became  obedience  and  obedience  itself  was  made  to 
be  the  knowledge  of  and  likeness  to  the  God  whom 
the  soul  obeyed. 

Wise  unto  salvation  "  is  the  Bible  phrase  for 
this.  Think  what  a  significance  there  is  in  these 
familiar  words.  Wisdom  that  shines  as  a  star  in  the 
forehead,  wisdom  that  wraps  the  form  with  dignity 
like  a  rich  mantle,  wisdom  that  burns  in  eloquence 
upon  the  lips,  these  all  men  cannot  have.  If  these 
are  the  true  successes  of  a  human  life,  then  most 
human  lives  must  be  failures.  But  wisdom  that  enters 
as  salvation  into  the  heart  all  men  may  have.  Hear 
how  St.   James  describes  it,  "  The  wisdom  that  is 


84  HEAVENLY   WISDOM. 

from  above  is  first  pure,  then  peaceable,  gentle,  and 
eas-*  CO  be  entreated,  full  of  mercy  and  good  fruits, 
without  partiality  and  without  hypocrisy."  These 
are  not  easy  things  indeed,  but  they  are  things  not 
impossible  for  any  man.  In  the  possibility  of  those 
things,  fruits  of  the  wisdom  which  is  from  above, 
for  every  man  lies  the  profoundest  and  most  trust- 
worthy assurance  of  our  human  brotherhood. 

One  noble  feature  of  this  universality  of  the  capac- 
ity of  religious  wisdom  lies  in  this :  that  it  makes 
men's  best  and  highest  side  to  be  also  their  side  of 
greatest  sympathy  and  broadest  fellowship,  and  so 
ensures  that  the  greater  men  grow  in  the  truest 
greatness,  the  more  and  not  the  less  they  should 
come  near  to  their  fellow-men.  Many  of  you  will 
remember  the  quaint  strong  verse  which  is  inscribed 
upon  the  tomb  of  Shakespeare's  daughter,  Mrs.  Ann 
Hall,  as  she  lies  hard  by  the  tomb  of  her  father  in 
front  of  the  chancel  in  the  Stratford  Church : 

'  Witty  beyond  her  sex.     But  that 's  not  all 
Wise  to  Salvation  was  good  Mistress  Hall. 
Something  of  Shakespeare  was  in  that :  but  this 
Wholly  of  Him  with  whom  she  's  now  in  bliss." 

The  words  cling  to  one's  memory  when  he  once 
has  read  them.  And  what  a  true  discrimination 
they  suggest.  The  wit  which  had  in  it  "  something 
of  Shakespeare  "  is  not  as  strong  an  appeal  to  the 
remembrance  and  sympathy  of  one  who  stands  by 
the  worn  tombstone  as  is  the  wisdom  and  salvation 
which  is  entirely  of  God  and  in  virtue  of  which  our 
souls  meet  hers  in  Him. 


HEAVENLY   WISDOM.  8$ 

The"  wickedness  of  folly,"  says  Ecclesiastes  in 
the  verse  the  next  but  one  to  that  from  which  my  text 
is  taken.  There  again  you  see  we  have  the  same 
idea — that  wisdom  is  a  moral  thing.  "  Folly,"  or 
unwisdom,  is  a  wicked  thing.  Surely  another  con- 
sequence of  this  Bible  idea  of  wisdom  must  be  that 
men  will  learn  to  seek  it  with  the  intensity  of  their 
moral  natures.  It  cannot  be  a  mere  dilettante 
study.     It  must  be  a  thing  of  life  and  death. 

As  Sunday  after  Sunday  we  come  up  here,  dear 
friends,  to  drink  of  the  water  of  the  fountain  and 
then  go  down  to  another  week  of  work  and  tempta- 
tion, let  us  pray  that  the  fruit  of  our  coming  may 
be  that  the  old  resolution  is  fastened  more  firmly  in 
our  hearts.  Let  us  pray  that  we  may  go  hence 
every  week  saying  more  surely,  more  enthusiasti- 
cally, "  I  will  be  wise."  It  is  not  far  from  us. 
It  is  close  at  hand.  As  close  as  duty !  as  close  as 
Christ !  May  He,  according  to  the  great  promise, 
be  made  to  us  ever  more  and  more  wisdom  and 
righteousness  and  sanctification  and  redemption. 


VI. 

THE    DUTIES    OF    PRIVILEGE. 

"  But  glory,  honor,  and  peace,  to  the  soul  of  every  man  that  work- 
eth  good,  to  the  Jew  first,  and  also  to  the  Gentile." — Romans  ii.  lo. 

The  fact  of  privilege  is  everywhere  throughout 
the  world.  We  cannot  open  the  door  on  any  group 
of  men  and  learn  the  most  superficial  story  of  their 
lives  without  finding  that  some  of  them  have  advan- 
tages even  by  no  effort  of  their  own  which  make  life 
seem  with  them  a  far  brighter  and  more  precious 
thing  than  it  seems  to  their  brethren.  Two  boys 
grow  up,  one  with  the  noble  associations  of  a  home 
that  is  full  of  thought  and  generous  standards ;  the 
other  in  the  midst  of  poverty  and  ignorance,  or,  what 
is  just  as  bad,  perhaps  worse,  wealth  and  ignorance; 
vulgar  display  or  stingy  selfishness  crowding  in  upon 
and  poisoning  his  life.  One  soul  falls  instantly  into 
a  rich  abundance  of  friendships,  another  goes  strug- 
gling on  its  way  alone.  One  man  lives  in  America 
and  another  has  to  live  in  Turkey.  One  is  tempted 
and  perhaps  forced  to  education,  another  longs  for 
it  and  finds  no  chance.  The  fact  of  privilege  is 
everywhere. 

And  if  we  try  to  make  light  of  these  differences 
86 


THE  DUTIES  OF  PRIVILEGE.  87 

and  to  say :  O,  these  are  only  outward  circum- 
stances, they  do  not  touch  the  character,  we  find 
very  soon  that  they  do  touch  the  character.  Men 
have  not  only  better  and  worse  chances  to  be  rich 
and  to  be  famous,  they  have  better  and  worse 
chances  to  be  good.  Nothing  but  the  most  abject 
slavery  to  a  theory  can  claim  for  a  moment  that  the 
child  of  the  gutter  has  the  same  chance  of  goodness 
as  the  child  of  the  pure  and  holy  home,  or  that  it 
makes  no  difference  to  the  possibilities  of  a  man's 
character  whether  he  lives  in  China  or  in  England. 
The  fact  of  privilege  is  not  merely  everywhere.  It 
goes  deep  and  touches  the  most  sacred  parts  of  us. 

My  purpose  to-day  does  not  lead  me  into  any 
attempt  to  explain  this  puzzling  fact  or  to  show 
how  one  may  come  to  look  at  it  complacently.  I 
think  there  is  but  one  way  in  which  a  man  can  be 
truly  reconciled  to  it,  and  that  is  by  faith  in  God. 
Faith  is  a  method  of  looking  at  life  which  begins 
with  the  personal  Governor  of  life,  and,  being  satis- 
fied of  His  character,  accepts  the  mysteries  of  exist- 
ence as  coming  from  Him,  as  right  because  He  is 
right,  as  capable  of  harmony  and  light  in  those 
depths  of  His  nature  which  we  cannot  fathom.  It 
is  an  action  of  the  nature  perfectly  familiar  to  us  in 
many  of  the  smaller  divisions  of  life,  in  the  family, 
in  the  schoolroom,  in  the  state,  this  action  which 
when  we  bring  it  to  its  largest  illustration  and  see  it 
working  towards  God  we  call  religious  faith. 

But  this  is  not  what  I  am  to  speak  of  to-day. 
Rather  I  want  to  take  the  simple  fact  of  privilege 
indisputably  present  everywhere.     Not  to  prove  it, 


88  THE  DUTIES   OF   PRIVILEGE. 

not  to  explain  it,  but  to  study  it,  to  see  what  some 
of  its  consequences  are,  how  it  makes  human  Hfe 
different  from  what  human  hfe  would  be  without  it, 
this  is  my  purpose.  There  can  be  no  doubt,  I  think, 
whatever  puzzling  questions  it  may  bring  with  it, 
that  it  is  the  fact  of  privilege,  the  inequalities  among 
men  for  which  they  do  not  seem  to  be  responsible, 
which  makes  a  large  part  of  the  interest  and  richness 
of  human  existence.  I  do  not  speak  simply  of  the 
picturesqueness  which  it  gives  to  life  as  compared 
with  the  monotonous  flatness  which  would  come  with 
an  absolute  equality  among  men.  The  country 
broken  into  hills  and  valleys  has  a  picturesque  variety, 
a  play  of  light  and  shade  which  delights  you  and  en- 
tices you  along,  far  different  from  the  weariness  with 
which  you  plod  across  the  smooth  country  where 
every  footstep  falls  on  the  same  level  with  the  step 
before  it  and  you  can  see  the  blank  monotony  un- 
broken to  the  far-away  horizon.  But  if  this  pictu- 
resque and  hilly  land  is  barren  while  the  flat  country 
teems  with  fertility,  then  men  will  love  the  flat  land 
best  and  live  there  most  happily.  It  is  not  for  its 
beauty  but  for  its  fruitfulness  that  we  praise  the  in- 
equality of  life.  I  beHeve  the  more  we  think,  the 
more  we  become  convinced  that  the  instinct  which 
asks  for  equality  is  a  low  one,  and  that  equality,  if 
it  were  completely  brought  about,  would  furnish 
play  only  for  the  lower  instincts  and  impulses  of 
man.  The  instincts  that  spring  up  with  inequality 
are  deeper  ones.  Helpfulness,  reverence,  unselfish 
admiration,  discrimination  of  the  essential  and  the 
accidental,  loyalty,    magnanimity,    these   are   what 


THE   DUTIES   OF   PRIVILEGE.  89 

make  men  great,  and  these  spring  up  between  un- 
equal men.  Certainly  the  world's  greatest  teachers 
have  not  been  levellers.  Christ  never  was.  Remem- 
ber what  He  said  about  rulers — His  "  Render  unto 
Caesar  the  things  that  are  Caesar's."  Remember 
how  He  promised  His  disciples  that  they  should  sit 
on  their  twelve  thrones.  Remember  how  while  He 
told  the  wife  of  Zebedee  that  she  was  all  wrong 
about  the  kind  and  the  means  of  the  dignity  which 
she  desired  for  her  sons,  yet  that  there  was  a  dignity 
which  should  be  given  to  them  for  whom  it  was  pre- 
pared of  His  Father.  In  His  Kingdom  of  Heaven 
there  was  to  be  a  greatest  and  a  least.  Nowhere  is 
there  any  communism  in  Jesus.  The  waste  of  power 
which  communism  involves  would  find  no  tolerance 
from  Him.  All  crude  and  passionate  attempts  to 
make  a  flat  equality  in  human  kind  have  seized  hold 
first  of  Christ  and  tried  to  fasten  themselves  on  Him. 
But  by  and  by  He  has  failed  them,  they  evidently 
did  not  carry  Him  with  them,  and  at  the  end  they 
have  supported  Him  by  some  abstract  philosophy, 
some  h  priori  speculation,  that  blighting  agrarian- 
ism  which  found  no  sanction  or  sympathy  in  the 
great  Teacher. 

This  brings  me  round  to  the  text,  of  which  I  have 
not  spoken  yet.  The  Bible  contains  one  picture  of 
the  universal  fact  of  privilege  which  in  dignity  and 
completeness  surpasses  every  other.  And  St.  Paul 
is  commenting  on  that  picture  in  this  verse.  God 
gives,  he  says,  "  Glory,  honor,  and  peace  to  the 
soul  of  every  man  that  worketh  good,  to  the  Jew 
first  and  also  to  the  Gentile."     It  is  a  very  strong 


90  THE  DUTIES   OF  PRIVILEGE. 

statement,  if  we  think  of  it.  It  declares  that  the 
universal  laws  of  spiritual  retribution  work  with 
peculiar  certainty  and  effect  for  one  nation.  It  is 
the  universal  function  of  righteousness  to  bring 
glory  and  honor  and  peace  to  the  souls  of  righteous 
men.  That  function  works  everywhere.  But  it 
works  strongest  and  first  for  these  Jews,  this  people 
born  of  Abraham  and  living  among  the  hills  of  Pal- 
estine. And  we  know  very  well  that  this  idea  of 
Paul  belongs  to  all  the  Bible.  The  reason  why  it 
does  not  startle  us  is  that  it  is  so  familiar.  It  is 
frankly  stated  everywhere.  It  is  urged  upon  them 
as  the  first  fact,  the  deepest  motive  of  their  life. 
Their  venerable  ancestor  is  always  seen  coming  over 
the  hills,  away  from  all  the  people  that  belonged  to 
him,  leaving  the  past  behind  him,  holding  in  his 
hands  as  he  came  the  promise  of  a  future  full  of 
privilege.  He  had  been  chosen.  God  had  called 
him.  Ah !  my  friends,  it  puzzles  us  when  we  state 
it  calmly  as  a  fact  of  history,  but  that  story  of  the 
call  of  Abraham  has  always  been  intelligible  to  mul- 
titudes of  men,  because  it  fell  in  so  completely  with 
what  they  saw  in  life.  It  was  a  scene  of  privilege, 
and  privilege  was  everywhere.  That  fact  of  privi- 
lege ran  down  through  all  the  Hebrew  story  from 
Abraham  to  Paul.  "  I  the  Lord  have  severed  you 
from  other  people  that  ye  should  be  mine."  And 
this  same  fact  of  privilege  Paul  is  declaring  to  the 
Jews  at  Rome. 

The  Jews,  then,  are  the  very  type  and  flower  of 
that  fact  of  privilege  and  inequality  which  fills  the 
world.     Let  us  take  them  as  the  type  and  by  the 


THE  DUTIES  OF  PRIVILEGE.  9I 

light  of  their  history  let  us  try  to  get  at  some 
truths  regarding  the  position  and  duty  of  privileged 
people  everywhere,  I  speak  habitually,  and  I  am 
speaking  this  morning  to  a  congregation  very  largely 
made  up  of  privileged  people.  There  are  circum- 
stances in  the  lives  of  most  of  you,  my  friends, 
which  have  come  there  by  no  merit  of  your  own, 
and  which  separate  your  lives  from  multitudes  of 
others  which  by  no  fault  of  theirs  are  destitute  of 
some  of  the  circumstances  that  belong  to  you. 
Those  circumstances  do  not  necessarily  make  you 
happy.  On  the  contrary,  they  often  bring  with 
them  new  sources  of  discontent.  I  suppose  that  the 
most  fortunate  lot  in  life  has  its  full  share  of  grum- 
blers and  complainers.  But  a  position  of  privilege 
does  bring  its  own  responsibilities  and  chances. 
They  vary  according  to  the  nature  of  the  privilege. 
Sometimes  it  is  social  position,  sometimes  it  is 
wealth,  with  all  the  ease  and  chance  of  influence  it 
brings.  Sometimes  it  is  education,  sometimes  it  is 
religious  opportunity,  a  peculiar  richness  of  the 
means  of  grace  of  one  sort  or  another.  These  are 
the  Judaisms  which  are  perpetual.  They  separate 
people  who  have  them  from  the  people  who  have 
them  not,  as  the  Jews  were  separated  from  the  Gen- 
tiles. In  them  all  the  virtues  and  all  the  vices  that 
were  in  historic  Judaism  are  possible.  Those  who 
are  destitute  of  them  may  be  often  better,  stronger, 
more  pleasant  persons  to  contemplate  and  to  have 
to  do  with  than  those  who  possess  them  are.  So 
the  Gentiles  were  often  better  and  more  satisfactory 
people  than  the  Jews.     But  still  the  value  of  privi- 


92  THE   DUTIES   OF   PRIVILEGE. 

lege  remains.  Its  chances  are  greatest  and  its  judg- 
ments are  most  severe.  I  speak  to-day  to  those 
whose  lives  are  in  any  way  lives  of  privilege,  and  I 
want  to  show  them  how  they  may  learn  to  under- 
stand and  use  their  lives  by  the  picture  of  this  peo- 
ple of  privilege,  the  Jews. 

I.  I  mention  first,  then,  the  frank  recognition  of 
their  privileged  condition  which  was  continually 
forced  upon  the  Jews.  There  was  something  very 
strong  and  beautiful  in  the  way  in  which  they  were 
never  for  a  moment  allowed  to  forget  that  they  be- 
longed to  God  in  some  peculiar  way.  No  voice  ever 
came  out  from  the  darkness  in  which  God  abode 
that  did  not  tell  them  once  again,  before  it  spoke 
the  special  message,  whether  of  commendation  or 
rebuke,  that  they  were  his  people  whom  he  had 
brought  out  of  the  land  of  Egypt,  out  of  the  house 
of  bondage,  and  to  whom  He  had  given  the  land 
which  he  had  promised  to  their  fathers.  Their  his- 
tory was  always  lighted  up  by  the  miracles  which 
God  had  given  to  no  other  people.  Whenever  they 
were  tempted  to  think  themselves  like  other  nations 
they  heard  again  in  the  distance  the  roar  of  the  Red 
Sea  parting  its  waters  to  let  them  go  through,  or 
saw  the  fires  of  Sinai  glaring  still  upon  the  desert 
sands.  No  forgetfulness,  no  cowardice,  no  mock 
humility  was  allowed  for  a  moment  to  obliterate  the 
everlasting  difference  that  separated  them  from  the 
Philistines  and  the  Edomites.  And  here  is  the  first 
truth,  the  first  duty  as  concerns  all  privilege.  Here 
is  what  God  demands  of  all  his  chosen  people,  of 
every  chosen  man — the  frank  and  unforgetful  recog- 


THE   DUTIES   OF   PRIVILEGE.  93 

nition  of  the  privilege  that  God  has  given  him.  If 
God  gives  a  man  social  position  or  education  or 
religious  influence,  He  does  it  for  a  purpose,  and 
the  cowardice  or  modesty  with  which  a  man  some- 
times ignores  the  fact  defeats  that  purpose.  There 
is  a  lofty  humility  in  which  the  true  man  says  "  I 
have  influence,  I  am  rich,  I  have  knowledge  " ;  with 
as  simple  truthfulness,  though  with  more  solemnity, 
as  he  says  "  I  am  thirty  years  old,"  or  "  I  am  tall," 
or  "  I  am  strong."  O  believe  me,  my  dear  friends, 
we  do  not  make  a  short  and  easy  end  of  the  tempta- 
tion to  pride  which  our  privileges  thrust  upon  us  by 
just  denying  our  privilege  altogether,  whether  to 
ourselves  or  to  one  another.  The  true  problem  is  to 
acknowledge  our  privilege,  to  keep  it  always  in  our 
sight,  never  to  forget  it  for  a  moment,  and  yet  be 
humble  as  the  prophets  of  the  Lord,  the  Jews  of 
Judaism,  were  humble,  who  could  say  such  sublime 
words  as  "  The  word  of  the  Lord  came  unto  me," 
and  yet  be  so  free  from  pride  that  they  could  serve 
the  meanest  of  their  people. 

Through  all  the  world  the  beauty  of  simple  truth- 
fulness impresses  us  always  more  and  more.  That 
everything  should  know  itself  clearly  and  declare 
itself  frankly,  the  very  mention  of  such  a  thought 
flashes  a  picture  before  our  eyes,  the  picture  of  a 
great,  rich  forest  where  everything  has  been  dis- 
torted and  told  untrue  tales  about  itself  in  a  thick 
fog,  now  as  the  fog  rises  simply  revealing  every  leaf 
and  trunk  and  twig  and  flower  just  as  it  is  and 
growing  beautiful  with  truth.  This  is  what  makes 
the  power  of  nature  always — her  perfect  frankness 


94  THE   DUTIES   OF   PRIVILEGE. 

and  radiant  content — no  restless  aspiration  and  no 
mock  humility.  The  violet  says  simply  "  I  am 
small  and  beautiful,"   the  oak  says  just  as  simply 

I  am  broad  and  strong  and  grand."  Each  tells 
its  simple  fact.  But  we  men  are  always  falsifying 
our  lives.  While  we  are  nothing  we  are  always  lifting 
up  our  voice  and  saying  that  we  are  something.  As 
soon  as  we  are  something  we  cover  ourselves  with  a 
thin  humility  and  say  "  O,  I  am  nothing."  The 
first  falsehood  we  all  condemn.  But  the  second  we 
are  apt  to  think  is  graceful  and  good.  But  it  is  not 
either.  It  is  ugly  and  bad.  The  first  duty  of  every 
man  whom  God  has  put  on  any  pedestal  is  not  to 
crouch  down  and  make  himself  seem  no  taller  than 
the  other  men  upon  the  ground  but  to  stand  at  his 
full  height,  and  on  the  pedestal  which  God,  not  he, 
has  built  for  him  to  lift  aloft  whatever  torch  God 
may  give  him  to  hold. 

2.  But  go  on  further.  The  next  feature  in  God's 
treatment  of  his  privileged  people  consisted  in  the 
way  in  which  He  was  always  forcing  absolute  stand- 
ards upon  them.  The  very  fact  of  their  privilege, 
as  he  was  always  telling  them,  took  them  out  of  the 
range  of  mere  comparison  with  their  neighbors  and 
compelled  them  to  be  judged  directly  by  him.  The 
Jews  said  "  We  are  no  worse  than  the  Moabites. " 
"  Nay,"  was  God's  answer,  in  some  unmistakable 
utterance  of  his  right  hand,  "  but  the  Moabites  are 
not  your  standard.  Let  Midian  and  Moab  test 
themselves  by  one  another.  You  are  my  people 
and  I,  only  I,  must  be  your  judge."  This  runs 
through  all  their  history.    Their  exaltation  lifts  them 


THE  DUTIES  OF  PRIVILEGE.  g$ 

up  to  higher  tests.  The  valleys  may  compare  them- 
selves with  one  another  and  see  which  has  most  of 
the  dim  twilight  which  is  all  that  any  of  them  gain, 
but  Mt,  Blanc  can  only  test  the  whiteness  of  its 
snowy  dome  by  the  brilliant  glory  of  the  sun  itself. 
And  this  is  true  of  all  privilege.  You  have  a 
chance  of  education — at  once  your  judgment  seat 
is  raised.  Your  standard  of  comparison  is  altered. 
It  will  not  do  for  you,  the  educated  man,  to  look 
around  upon  the  mass  of  ignorance  and  say  "  I 
know  as  much  as  these  men  know."  You  are 
separated  from  them  by  your  privilege.  You 
must  match  yourself  against  absolute  standards. 
What  fraction  is  that  which  you  know  of  the  entire 
truth  ?  That  is  the  scholar's  test.  The  true  scholar 
is  known  by  the  way  in  which  he  accepts  that  test 
and  willingly  applies  it  to  himself.  Or  you  have 
influence.  Men  look  to  where  you  stand  for  guid- 
ance. It  will  not  do  tor  you  to  say  "  I  do  as  much 
good  in  the  community  as  other  men."  You  must 
be  driven  home  into  the  absolute  question  "  How 
does  the  good  you  do  fall  short  of  the  best  that  a 
man  can  do  for  his  fellow-men  ?  Or  you  are  where 
religious  opportunity  is  bright  around  you.  Your 
education  has  made  you  know  Christ  from  your 
childhood.  The  Bible  has  been  never  shut.  The 
church  is  always  open.  Is  it  for  you  to  say  "  I  am 
as  pious  as  most  men  ?  "  Must  not  your  privilege 
lift  you  up  above  all  low  comparisons  and  partial 
estimates  until  you  meet  the  word  of  Christ  and 
hear  him  say  "  Be  ye  therefore  perfect  even  as  your 
Father  is  perfect." 


96  THE   DUTIES   OF   PRIVILEGE. 

I  think  that  this  stands  very  high  among  the  ad- 
vantages which  are  given  to  a  Hfe  of  privilege.  It 
has  an  opportunity  of  coming,  as  it  were,  more 
directly  to  the  judgment  seat  of  God.  The  man  of 
privilege  may  disown  this  advantage.  The  king 
upon  the  throne  may  extenuate  his  cruelty  or  mean- 
ness by  comparing  himself  with  the  people  whom  he 
rules.  You,  set  perhaps  where  a  social  circle  larger 
or  smaller  looks  up  to  you  and  envies  you  and  copies 
you,  may  basely  ask  of  yourself  no  more  than  merely 
to  be  equal  to  the  average  standards  of  the  multi- 
tudes who  follow  you,  but  if  you  do  so  you  throw 
away  your  opportunity.  The  boy  in  school  who, 
climbing  to  the  topmost  seat,  passes  out  of  compari- 
son with  his  school-fellows,  comes  in  sight  of  the 
higher  judgments  which  prevail  among  older  boys 
or  among  men  in  the  great  world  for  which  boyhood 
is  a  preparation.  The  world  is  made  up  of  a  vast 
series  of  judgment  halls,  in  each  of  which  sits  some 
judge  of  some  degree  of  dignity.  Each  judge  in  his 
own  court  has  his  own  order  of  men  who  are  judged 
by  him.  Public  opinion  sits  in  one  chamber  and 
judges  its  public;  business  success  sits  in  another 
and  gives  its  judgments;  and  so  they  rise  in  dignity. 
And  each  degree  and  kind  of  privilege  takes  a  man 
out  of  the  judgment  of  some  lower  court,  but  it 
brings  him  into  the  judgment  of  a  higher.  Wealth 
frees  a  man  from  the  necessity  of  business  conflict. 
He  is  not  obliged  to  show  in  the  wrestle  of  the  Ex- 
change what  sort  of  man  he  is,  but  he  is  summoned 
by  his  wealth  to  a  higher  and  harder  test.  He  is 
compelled  to  manifest  his  manhood  not  by  his  skill 


THE   DUTIES   OF   PRIVILEGE.  97 

in  getting  money  but  by  his  generosity  in  using  it. 
The  man  born  into  a  host  of  friends  is  not  tried  by 
the  tests  of  solitary  endurance,  but  his  character  is 
brought  to  the  severe  analysis  of  multipHed  rela- 
tions. So  everywhere.  A  man's  privileges  release 
him  from  one  judgment  seat  only  to  bring  him  to 
another  higher,  more  absolute,  and  more  exacting. 
And  at  the  head  of  all  stands  the  judgment  of  God, 
the  great  white  throne,  to  which  all  lives  come  at 
last,  to  which  the  lives  of  highest  privilege  come 
most  immediately,  and  which  no  privilege  is  lofty 
enough  to  fly  over  and  escape. 

If  this  were  not  true,  privilege  would  grow  into 
insufferable  arrogance.  Freed  from  the  lower  re- 
straint and  entering  into  none  higher  it  would  tread 
upon  the  necks  of  men  with  brutal  insolence. 
Wherever  privilege  has  claimed  for  itself  such  free- 
dom from  all  judgment  it  has  oppressed  the  world 
and  made  itself  seem  hateful.  But  there  have  been 
privileged  men  and  women,  there  are  such  to-day, 
whose  privilege  has  made  them  all  the  more  con- 
scious of  authority,  and  their  lives  are  the  most 
beautiful  that  we  see  anywhere.  There  are  men 
whom  no  necessity  of  daily  bread  compels  to  work, 
and  yet  whom  no  man  dreams  of  calling  idle.  They 
labor  in  some  cause  of  God,  some  work  of  charity  or 
culture  for  mankind  as  faithfully  as  any  drudge  drags 
out  his  weary,  hated  task.  There  are  men  and 
women  whom  nothing  that  we  call  self-interest  com- 
pels to  court  the  favor  of  their  fellow-creatures  by 
civility,  who  yet  are  full  of  gracious  courtesy  to  all 
the  children  of  their  Father.     Such  privilege  as  that 


98  THE   DUTIES   OF   PRIVILEGE. 

does  not  disgust  but  wins  men.  Men  do  not  hate 
it.  It  represents  to  them  true  kingliness.  It  opens 
to  them  the  way  by  which  they  themselves  may  rise 
to  higher  standards. 

"  Ah,  great  and  gentle  Lord, 
Who  wast,  as  is  the  conscience  of  a  saint 
Among  his  warring  senses,  to  thy  Knights." 

So  speaks  his  beautiful,  false,  and  repentant  queen 
to  King  Arthur,  who  is  in  romance  the  perfect  pic- 
ture of  privilege  that  has  found  its  way  to  higher 
judgment  seats  by  the  very  greatness  that  exempts 
it  from  the  lower.  It  is  stricter  as  well  as  loftier  in 
its  obedience  as  the  conscience  is  more  sternly  as 
well  as  more  nobly  ruled  by  the  senses.  David's 
whole  kingdom  looks  up  to  him,  makes  him  its 
standard,  lives  or  dies  by  his  smile  or  frown.  But 
David  himself  stands  upon  the  summit  and  cries 
directly  up  to  God,  "  Let  my  sentence  come  forth 
from  Thy  presence." 

Not  that  the  souls  which  we  call  privileged  alone 
£an  thus  directly  submit  themselves  to  absolute 
standards  and  find  out  the  judgment  seat  of  God. 
The  humblest  and  most  trampled  and  encumbered 
life  may  go  there  freely.  The  valley  may  look  up  to 
the  sun  as  boldly  as  the  hill  top.  Only  it  must  look 
past  the  hill  top,  and  I  am  only  picturing  the  actual 
state  of  things  when  I  say  that  it  is  apt  to  catch 
much  of  its  light  from  the  mountain's  reflection 
while  the  mountain  must  get  its  directly  from  the 
sun. 

O  men  and  women  with  your  lives  of  privilege, 


THE   DUTIES   OF   PRIVILEGE.  99 

do  not  disown  this  which  is  their  best  prerogative. 
Let  the  very  certainty  that  your  education  or  your 
wealth  or  your  position  did  not  come  to  you  by  any 
merit  of  your  own  make  it  a  solemn  thing  to  you. 
All  good  comes  from  Him.  But  the  good  that 
comes  by  a  man's  own  labor  seems  to  have  come 
through  many  hands  and  to  have  lost  something  of 
the  sacredness  of  its  origin.  But  your  good  things 
it  seems  as  if  you  took  directly  from  the  hands  of 
God.  His  hands  touched  your  hands  as  He  gave 
them  to  you.  They  are  warm  with  His  touch,  they 
are  bright  with  His  look  still.  Let  them  be  sacred 
to  you.  Let  them  be  symbols  to  you  not  so  much 
of  your  freedom  from  low  authorities  as  of  your  loy- 
alty to  the  highest.  Let  them  signify  humility  and 
faith,  and  make  your  life  strong  and  gentle  by  keep- 
ing it  in  God's  presence. 

3.  But  one  more  truth  remains,  the  deepest  truth 
about  the  purpose  and  the  proper  use  of  privilege. 
It  is  the  truth  that  privilege  is  given  to  any  man  not 
for  himself  alone  but  for  the  good  of  other  people. 
We  must  go  back  to  our  Jews  again,  our  types  of 
privilege.  The  struggle  of  God  with  that  people 
was  to  make  them  fit  for  certain  offices  which  they 
were  to  render  to  mankind.  There  can  be  nothing 
more  ignoble  than  to  think  of  God  as  choosing  one 
nation  out  of  all  the  world  and  petting  it  and  making 
it  his  favorite,  rewarding  it  when  it  was  good  and 
petulantly  punishing  it  when  it  was  bad,  as  one 
might  do  with  a  favored  wilful  child.  But  there  can 
be  nothing  finer  than  the  thought  of  God  taking  one 
of  His  nations  and  moulding  it,  training  it,  fusing 


ICO  THE   DUTIES   OF   PRIVILEGE. 

its  life  into  transparency  so  that  it  might  be  capable 
of  transmitting  Him  and  His  blessing  to  the  rest. 
That  was  what  their  privilege  was  for.  "To  the  Jew 
first  and  also  to  the  Gentile,"  The  Jew  failed  over 
and  over  again  to  know  God's  purpose.  He  took 
the  privilege  which  he  was  to  help  other  people  with 
and  treated  it  like  a  luxury  of  his  own.  He  was 
like  the  crew  of  a  ship  sent  to  carry  provisions  to  a 
sick  and  starving  people  over  the  sea,  who  on  the 
way  forget  the  purpose  of  the  voyage  and  drink  the 
wine  and  eat  the  bread  themselves  as  if  they  had 
been  stored  there  only  for  their  luxurious  living. 
There  is  something  grotesque  about  it  when  we  state 
it  so.  There  is  something  tragically  grotesque  about 
all  the  same  misuse  of  privilege  for  selfish  purposes 
as  we  see  it  everywhere  in  life.  What  is  that  man 
doing  who  lives  there  by  the  wayside  in  his  gorgeous 
house  and  eats  and  drinks  and  entertains  his  friends 
and  thinks  how  good  it  is  for  him  that  he  was  born 
without  duties  or  the  necessity  of  work.  Why,  he 
is  merely  out  at  sea,  floating  along  before  light 
winds,  merrily  or  gloomily  eating  and  drinking  up 
his  cargo.  What  is  that  religious  Sybarite  about, 
who  with  the  noblest  Church,  the  most  exquisite 
service,  the  purest  associations  surrounding  his  shel- 
tered life,  is  worshipping  God  as  if  he  had  no  mis- 
sionary duty,  saying  "  O  God,  thou  art  my  God  "  so 
earnestly  that  it  seems  as  if  there  were  no  God  left 
for  anybody  else.  When  you  think  what  God  made 
the  man  a  Christian  for,  there  is  something  tragically 
grotesque  about  it.  He  has  lost  the  purpose  of  his 
privilege  and  is  taking  for  himself  what  God  gave 


THE   DUTIES   OF   PRIVILEGE.  lOI 

him  to  transmit  to  other  men,  to  His  great  hungry 
world  of  men. 

This  truth  regarding  privilege  is  shown  in  the 
tendency  which  every  unused  privilege  manifests  to 
disappear.  The  naturalists  now  are  tracing  many 
of  the  varieties  of  physical  structure  to  the  way  in 
which  bodily  organs  which  from  any  circumstances 
are  not  used  dwindle  and  shrivel  up  and  pass  away. 
And  so  it  is  with  privileges  of  whatever  sort  when 
they  are  not  used  for  the  blessing  of  other  men  be- 
side the  possessor.  This  certainly  was  true  about 
our  specimens  of  privilege,  the  Jews.  They  were 
selfish  about  their  privileges,  wanted  to  keep  them 
to  themselves,  and  where  are  their  privileges  to-day  ? 
The  world  has  taken  the  truth  out  of  the  hands  of 
the  faithless  priest,  and  goes  its  way,  using  the 
truth,  but  leaving  the  priest  helpless  and  neglected 
by  the  wayside.  This  is  men's  belief  about  the 
highest  gifts  always.  This  was  Christ's  story  of  the 
talents.  There  is  a  legend  of  the  Irish  Saint,  Co- 
lumba,  and  a  monk  who  had  some  precious  religious 
books.  Columba  begged  that  he  might  see  them, 
but  the  monk  refused.  Then  Columba  broke  out 
indignantly,  "May  thy  books  no  longer  do  thee  any 
good,  thee,  nor  those  that  come  after  thee,  since 
thou  takest  occasion  by  them  to  show  thy  inhospi- 
tality. "  And  the  monk's  books  became  unintelli- 
gible. "  They  still  exist,"  says  an  author  of  300 
years  later,  "  but  no  man  can  read  them." 

I  know  how  with  regard  to  certain  kinds  of  privi- 
lege it  will  seem  as  if  this  were  not  true.  "  Look," 
men  will  say,  "  here  is  a  selfish  rich  man  who  never 


I02  THE  DUTIES   OF   PRIVILEGE. 

uses  his  wealth  for  other  people  and  yet  his  riches 
do  not  fly  away.  He  is  as  rich  as  ever."  But  it  is 
like  the  unused  limb.  It  does  not  disappear  at 
once.  It  shrivels  and  dries  up.  The  life  goes  out 
of  it.  And  so  your  social  position  or  your  wealth 
shrivels  if  it  is  selfish.  The  respectability  and 
pleasure  which  are  their  life  pass  out  of  them. 
They  become  mere  shells  which  any  wind  of  circum- 
stance may  blow  away.  So  the  best  enthusiasm 
dies  out  of  selfish  learning  and  all  real  earnestness 
out  of  selfish  religion. 

These  then  are  the  truths  concerning  privilege. 
Recount  them  in  your  minds.  All  privilege  is  to  be 
frankly  owned  and  its  responsibilities  accepted.  All 
privilege  which  lifts  men  above  the  dependence 
upon  fellow-men  ought  to  bring  them  more  clearly 
into  the  sight  and  the  judgment  of  God.  All 
privilege  belongs  to  the  privileged  men,  not  for 
themselves  but  for  other  men.  Think  of  the  life  of 
Jesus.  It  was  all  full  of  privilege.  A  difference 
from  other  men  which  his  oneness  with  other  men 
only  made  more  manifest.  A  superiority  which  was 
so  absolute  that  the  common  types  and  symbols  of 
superiority,  money  and  rank,  would  have  seemed 
most  impertinent.  And  see  in  Him  how  all  these 
truths  of  privilege  were  evident.  He  frankly  took 
His  place.  He  did  not  make  believe  that  He  was  not 
different  from  other  men.  He  said  "  Come  unto 
me  "  as  if  He  were  the  centre  of  the  world.  And 
the  more  He  stood  above  men,  the  nearer  did  He 
stand  to  His  Father.     He  was  always  in  God's  sight 


THE  DUTIES  OF  PRIVILEGE.  IO3 

doing  God's  work.  And  yet  all  His  separateness 
from  men  was  for  men's  sake.  He  was  the  divine 
Saviour  for  the  souls  of  men.  He  lived  and  died  as 
no  other  man  ever  did  only  that  all  other  men,  if 
they  would,  might  come  to  live  and  die  like  Him. 

These  are  the  truths  concerning  privilege.  In 
their  degree  all  the  greatest  souls  of  our  race  have 
illustrated  them.  They  have  frankly  accepted  their 
position  of  genius  or  of  power.  They  have  owned 
God's  judgment.  They  have  lived  for  fellow-men. 
Think  of  Socrates  or  Milton. 

And  now,  my  friends,  you,  as  I  said,  are  very 
largely  people  of  privilege.  Let  me  speak  plainly 
with  you.  Many  of  you  are  rich.  Many  of  you 
have  social  influence.  Many  of  you  have  educa- 
tion, almost  all  of  you  have  had  the  Church  and  the 
blessings  of  religion  all  your  lives.  Now  sometimes 
it  seems  well  to  tell  privileged  people  that  they  must 
not  think  about  their  privileges.  But  to-day  I  beg 
you  to  think  about  them  very  earnestly.  Own  the 
great  truths  concerning  them.  If  you  are  rich  you 
must  frankly  own  your  wealth  and  take  the  position 
which  it  gives  with  all  the  duties  that  belong  to  it. 
If  you  have  been  born  in  the  very  centre  of  church 
light,  you  must  not  make  believe  to  yourself  or  to 
other  people  that  it  is  all  the  same  as  if  you  were  a 
heathen.  It  is  as  bad  for  the  rich  man  to  make  be- 
lieve that  he  is  poor  and  so  shirk  his  responsibilities 
as  for  the  poor  man  to  make  believe  that  he  is  rich 
and  so  ruin  himself  by  extravagance.  First  own 
your  place  with  that  frank  acceptance  of  the  facts  of 
life  which  is  the  only  real  humility,  and  then  let 


I04  THE  DUTIES   OF  PRIVILEGE. 

your  privilege  solemnize  you.  Frankly  owned,  not 
hidden  as  if  it  were  something  of  which  you  ought 
to  be  ashamed,  let  it  bring  you  into  and  keep  you 
in  the  very  presence  of  Him  who  gave  it  to  you. 
Let  it  hold  you  with  a  grasp  that  you  cannot  escape 
before  the  judgment  seat  of  God.  And,  above  all, 
know  that  it  is  a  trust  and  never  dare  to  make  a  lux- 
ury out  of  it.  Understand  that  your  wealth  or  your 
education,  or  your  religious  light  is  not  thoroughly 
made  your  own  till  you  have  begun  to  use  it  for 
other  people. 

O  if  the  people  of  privilege  all  through  this  city 
could  get  these  truths  and  hold  them!  How  igno- 
rant they  are  about  them  now.  How  they  behave 
like  children  to  whom  have  been  given  jewels  that 
might  glorify  and  enrich  the  world  but  who  hide 
them  under  a  child's  awkward  bushel  made  of  pride 
and  shame  or  use  them  only  to  deck  out  their  fool- 
ish baby-houses.  O  for  some  voice  of  Christ  to 
come  to  them  and  say  "  Ye  are  the  light  of  the 
world.  If  the  light  that  is  in  you  is  darkness  how 
great  is  that  darkness." 

It  is  no  feeble  and  fictitious  levelhng  of  the  world 
that  we  desire.  Men  are  not  jealous  of  privilege  if 
privilege  is  only  worthy  of  its  privileges.  You  who 
are  rich  and  lofty  and  educated  and  religious,  be- 
ware, beware,  of  what  befel  that  Jewish  people  who 
were  once  to  the  rest  of  the  world  what  you  are  now 
to  the  rest  of  the  community.  They  were  what  you 
are.  Beware  lest  by  repeating  their  unworthiness 
you  come  to  be  what  they  are.  It  is  possible  for 
you  to  be  what  they  might  have  been,  to  take  all 


THE   DUTIES   OF   PRIVILEGE.  I05 

their  promises  and  find  the  truth  they  never  found 
in  them.  God  says  to  you  as  He  said  to  them, 
They  that  be  wise  shall  shine  as  the  brightness  of 
the  firmament,  and  they  that  turn  many  to  right- 
eousness as  the  stars  forever  and  ever. 


VII. 
THE   SACREDNESS   OF  LIFE. 

*'  He  asked  life  of  Thee  and  thou  gavest  it  him,  even  length  of 
days  for  ever  and  ever." — Psalms  xxi.  4. 

The  poetry  of  the  twenty-first  Psalm  is  very  pic- 
turesque. King  David  is  the  writer,  but  the  whole 
people  of  Israel  are  represented  as  the  speakers. 
First  they  address  themselves  to  God  and  praise 
Him  for  the  blessings  which  he  has  given  to  their 
monarch.  Then  they  turn  to  the  king  himself  and 
rejoice  with  him  upon  the  victory  over  his  enemies 
and  the  escape  from  his  troubles  which  is  before  him. 
And  then  in  the  last  verse  they  turn  back  again  to 
God  and  ascribe  the  glory  and  power  entirely  to 
Him.  "  Be  thou  exalted,  Lord,  in  thine  own 
strength,  so  will  we  sing  and  praise  thy  power." 

The  Psalm  is  therefore,  in  most  spirited  and  poetic 
form,  the  expression  of  David's  own  gratitude  and 
hope  and  devotion. 

The  verse  which  I  have  quoted  for  our  text  fixes 
our  attention  on  the  first  part  of  the  Psalm,  the  grati- 
tude of  David.  The  people  are  singing  of  God's 
mercy  to  their  beloved  king.  They  remember  how, 
perhaps  in  some  special  emergency  when  his  life 

106 


THE   SACREDNESS   OF   LIFE.  I07 

seemed  in  danger,  perhaps  in  that  long  aspiration  of 
youth  which  is  one  long  prayer  for  life,  David  had 
begged  God  to  let  him  live.  "  He  asked  life  of 
thee,"  and  then  they  record  how  God  was  better  to 
David  than  his  prayer.  "  Thou  gavest  it  him,  even 
length  of  days  forever  and  ever,"  or,  as  our  Prayer- 
Book  version  has  it,  "  He  asked  life  of  thee  and  thou 
gavest  him  a  long  life,  even  for  ever  and  ever."  It 
is  this  verse  which  I  wish  to  study  with  you.  What 
does  it  mean  ?  Surely  David  does  not  dream  that 
God  in  answer  to  his  prayer  for  life  had  really  made 
his  life  immortal.  Already  as  he  wrote  he  must 
have  felt  in  eye  and  hand  some  of  those  symptoms 
of  advancing  age  which  even  in  the  full  strength  of 
maturity  prophesy  decay.  It  must  have  been  that 
David  caught  sight  of  that  other  kind  of  earthly  im- 
mortality which  has  always  fascinated  noble  minds. 
He  saw  the  perpetuation  of  his  influence.  He  saw 
that  the  spiritual  dynasty  which  was  represented  in 
him  was  to  continue  in  long  power  over  unborn 
generations  of  mankind.  The  Christ  who  was  to 
come  in  the  fulfilment  of  that  which  he  prefigured 
was  to  reign  forever.  This  was  the  immortality 
which  he  heard  God  promising  him.  He  asked  life. 
Asked  to  be  saved  from  death  by  sickness,  or  by 
the  paw  of  the  lion  or  the  paw  of  the  bear,  or  by 
the  soldiers  of  Saul.  And  God  gave  him  life.  And 
at  first,  it  may  be,  he  thought  that  God  had  given 
him  no  more  than  he  had  asked  for,  only  the  imme- 
diate escape  from  dying.  But  by  and  by  he  found 
that  the  life  which  God  had  given  him  was  a  long 
and  deep  and  mysterious  thing.    It  was  vastly  richer 


I08  THE  SACREDNESS  OF   LIFE. 

in  character  and  destiny  than  he  had  dreamed  of. 
Slowly  it  opened  to  him  and  he  saw  that  it  was 
something  with  vast  connections,  something  whose 
power  touched  spiritual  forces  and  never  should 
decay,  something  belonging  to  the  unending  life  of 
God.  It  was  eternal  life  which  God  had  given  him. 
"  He  had  asked  life  and  God  had  given  him  a  long 
life  even  for  ever  and  ever." 

It  is  thus  that  these  words  of  David  have  sug- 
gested to  me  the  subject  of  which  I  wished  to  speak 
to  you  to-day.  I  have  wondered  whether  I  could 
make  you  see  how  that  same  deepening  sight  of  life 
which  came  to  David  may  come  to  us,  does  come  to 
many  men  who  get  below  the  first  appearance,  the 
mere  surface  of  life  and  see  its  deeper  meaning.  We 
too  ask  God  for  life.  Every  struggle  for  self- 
support  ;  every  shudder  at  the  thought  of  dying, 
every  delight  in  existence  is  a  cry  for  life.  We  may 
not  mean  it  for  a  prayer.  We  may  not  turn  it  God- 
ward.  With  us,  as  we  utter  it,  it  may  be  a  mere 
vague  cry  into  the  darkness,  but  God  hears  it  as  a 
cry  to  Him,  just  exactly  as  if  you  walked  upon  the 
beach  at  night  and  heard  a  drowning  man  shouting 
in  terror,  his  shout  would  be  in  your  ears  a  prayer 
to  you,  although  he  did  not  know  that  you  were 
there,  and  only  shouted  in  the  vagueness  of  his  ter- 
ror. So  every  struggle  that  we  make  to  live  is  a 
prayer  to  God  for  life.  And  the  continuance  of  our 
existence  is  God's  answer  to  our  prayer.  But  when 
we  first  take  the  life  which  He  gives  us  we  do  not 
know  what  it  is.  Its  depth,  its  richness  only  opens 
to  us  gradually.     Only  gradually  do  we  learn  that 


THE   SACREDNESS   OF   LIFE.  IO9 

God  has  given  to  us  not  merely  the  power  of  present 
being  and  present  enjoyment,  but  that  wrapt  up  and 
hidden  in  that  He  has  given  us  the  power  of  think- 
ing, feeUng,  loving,  living  in  such  deep  and  lofty 
ways  that  we  may  be  in  connection  with  the  great 
continuous  unbroken  thoughts  and  feelings  and 
movements  of  the  universe.  The  life  which  He  has 
given  us  is  in  its  capacities  not  merely  a  thing  of  this 
moment.  It  is  a  part  of  the  life  of  the  universe. 
It  is  eternal  life. 

We  can  understand  it  best  perhaps  if  we  look  back 
to  the  very  beginning  of  life  and  follow  the  human 
spirit  in  its  development.  It  is  possible  for  our 
imaginations  even  to  picture  the  soul  praying  for  life 
before  it  has  begun  to  live.  We  all  remember  those 
verses  from  Pope's  Messiah  which  are  made  into  one 
of  the  hymns  of  our  hymnal.  The  poet  is  singing 
of  the  kingdom  of  God  that  is  to  come,  the  new 
Jerusalem  and  its  inhabitants: 

"  See  a  long  race  thy  spacious  courts  adorn, 
See  future  sons  and  daughters  yet  unborn, 
In  crowding  ranks  on  eveiy  side  arise 
Demanding  life,  impatient  for  the  skies." 

The  cry  of  the  unborn  for  life !  That  is  the  sound 
which  fills  the  poet's  vision.  By  and  by  comes 
God's  answer  to  that  prayer.  The  unborn  come 
to  the  birth  and  life  is  given.  We  all  know  how 
that  life  seems  to  be  merely  life,  life  in  its  first  and 
simplest  form  at  the  beginning,  and  so  it  goes  on 
through  all  the  earliest  years.  The  unconscious 
infant  lives  in  a  mere  animal  existence,   and  later 


no  THE   SACREDNESS   OF   LIFE. 

when  the  strong  and  healthy  boy  begins  to  grow 
conscious  of  the  delight  of  life,  it  is  pure  life,  life 
simply  as  a  fact,  life  not  with  reference  to  the 
deeper  powers  it  contains  or  the  far-off  issues  with 
which  it  has  to  do  that  gives  him  such  hourly  de- 
light in  living.  There  comes  back  to  many  of  us,  I 
am  sure,  the  ringing  verse  in  which  Browning  has 
made  this  very  David,  when  he  was  a  boy,  sing  in 
the  presence  of  King  Saul  of  this  pure  consciousness 
of  joy  in  the  mere  fact  of  being  alive. 

*'  Oh,  the  wild  joys  of  living  !  the  leaping  from  rock  up  to  rock 
The  strong  rending  of  boughs  from  the  fir-tree  ;  the  cool  silver 

shock 
Of  the  plunge  in  a  pool's  living  water, — the  hunt  of  the  bear, 
And  the  sultriness  showing  the  lion  is  couched  in  his  lair. 
And  the  meal — the  rich  dates  yellowed  over  with  gold  dust  divine 
And  the  locust's  flesh  steeped  in  the  pitcher !  the  full  draught  of 

wine, 
And  the  sleep  in  the  dried  river-channel  where  bulrushes  tell 
That  the  water  was  wont  to  go  warbling  so  softly  and  well. 
How  good  is  man's  life,  the  mere  living  !  how  fit  to  employ 
All  the  heart  and  the  soul  and  the  senses  forever  in  joy." 

"  Truly  the  light  is  sweet,  and  a  pleasant  thing  it 
is  for  the  eyes  to  behold  the  sun."  So  Ecclesiastes, 
the  Preacher,  sings  the  same  truth,  the  truth  of 
man's,  the  healthy  man's,  pure  delight  in  life,  long 
before  he  has  looked  down  into  the  depth  of  life  to 
ask  what  treasures  are  hidden  there,  or  looked  out 
along  the  distant  vista  of  life  to  ask  what  he  shall 
do  with  it.  In  his  placing  of  a  bright,  unquestion- 
ing boyhood  at  the  beginning  of  every  man's  career, 
does  it  not  seem  as  if  God  had  meant  to  indicate 


THE   SACREDNESS   OF  LIFE.  Ill 

that  this  sense  of  life  as  a  blessing  in  itself  must  be 
the  basis  out  of  which  all  the  sense  of  the  special 
blessedness  of  special  events  in  life  must  grow,  as  if 
He  meant  to  have  us  take  life  as  a  whole  and  thank 
Him  for  our  creation  before  we  looked  deeper  and 
saw  what  were  the  true  purposes  of  life.  But  by 
and  by  the  time  for  that  deeper  look  must  come. 
Not  always  can  David  be  content  with  the  leaping 
from  rock  to  rock,  the  plunge  in  the  pool  and  the 
sleep  in  the  dry  bed  of  the  summer  brook.  The 
thoughts  and  anxieties  and  duties  of  a  man  come 
crowding  up  into  the  life  of  the  light-hearted  boy. 
Care  for  things  to  which  he  once  was  all  indifferent, 
hopes  of  things  about  which  he  once  never  dreamed, 
ambitions  and  desires  of  influence  and  power,  the 
delight  in  half-discovered  faculties,  and  as  the  crown 
of  all,  conscious  religion  or  the  realized  relationship 
with  God,  the  love  of  and  the  obedience  to  Christ, 
all  of  these  become  his  one  after  another.  One 
after  another  life  comes  to  mean  these  things.  And 
now  what  shall  we  say  ?  How  have  these  things 
come  to  the  man.  See  him  at  forty  rich  in  all  these, 
the  earnest,  thoughtful,  religious  man,  full  of  associa- 
tions with  the  world  and  with  his  fellow-man  and 
God.  This  is  the  same  being  with  the  boy  who 
played  in  simple  health  and  thoughtlessness  thirty 
years  ago.  How  have  all  these  things  come  to  him  ? 
Have  angels  come  down  one  by  one,  each  bringing 
one  of  these  new  gifts  and  put  them  one  by  one 
into  his  life.  Have  they  not  rather  opened  one  by 
one  out  of  that  life  itself,  called  out  by  God,  urged 
out  by  the  half-blind  desire  to  be  all  that  it  had 


112  THE   SACREDNESS   OF  LIFE. 

within  itself  the  capacity  of  being,  but  certainly 
coming  forth  out  of  the  very  substance  of  the  life 
itself,  and  therefore  having  been  in  the  life  from  the 
beginning.  There  never  was  a  moment  when  the 
hand  of  God  touched  Shakespeare's  lips  and  bade 
him  be  the  poet.  Never  a  time  when  as  a  new  en- 
dowment a  breath  from  Heaven  gave  to  St.  John 
the  capacity  to  be  a  saint.  Never  a  day  when  the 
nature  of  Raphael  was  filled  with  genius.  These 
things  were  in  these  men  from  the  beginning  of  their 
lives.  When  as  in  Pope's  imaginative  picture  their 
spirits  prayed  for  life,  and  when  God  gave  them  life, 
this  was  what  God  gave  them.  This  poetry,  this 
genius,  the  sublimeness  was  all  wrapped  up  in  that 
first  gift  of  life  when  God  said  "  Let  this  man  be." 
All  that  has  to  do  with  His  own  unending  life  was 
there.  The  eternal  life  of  these  men,  this  God  gave 
to  them.  All  that  was  to  open  out  of  their  being 
forever,  all  that  they  were  to  be  on  to  the  endless 
end,  all  this  God  gave  them  when  He  answered  the 
prayer  of  their  unborn  spirits.  They  asked  life  of 
Him,  and  He  gave  them  a  long  life,  even  forever 
and  ever. 

We  talk  of  Raphael,  and  Shakespeare,  and  St. 
John.  But  we  might  talk  of  any  men.  We  talk  of 
them  only  because  their  illustrious  excellence  makes 
glorious  and  clear  what  is  true  of  all  mankind.  In 
all  men  the  life  which  God  gives  has  in  it  the  capacity 
of  all  which  the  man  forever  hereafter  is  to  be.  In 
all  men,  the  first  life  that  appears,  that  which  we 
commonly  call  life,  the  mere  vitality,  is  the  founda- 
tion of  the  entire  life,  the  basis  upon  which  must 


THE   SACREDNESS   OF   LIFE.  II3 

rest  all  the  structure  of  the  growing  character.  How 
interesting  this  makes  the  beginning  of  a  life  appear. 
Some  day  I  walk  along  one  of  our  streets  and  men 
are  laying  the  foundations  of  a  new  house  which  is 
going  to  be  built.  It  is  interesting  in  itself, — the 
driving  of  the  piles,  the  laying  of  the  massive  stones, 
the  exercise  of  power  and  of  skill.  But  the  true 
interest  of  what  they  are  doing  lies  in  the  conscious- 
ness that  this  is  a  foundation.  The  lines  on  which 
these  great  stones  are  laid  mark  the  dimensions  and 
partitions  of  the  coming  house.  I  look  up  and  the 
air  already  seems  to  be  quivering  with  the  yet  un- 
built walls.  He  who  is  laying  these  stones  has  the 
walls  in  his  brain  and  is  already  building  them. 
That  makes  it  interesting.  But  let  it  stop,  and  then 
you  feel  instantly  how  destitute  of  value  the  founda- 
tion is  in  itself.  A  foundation  that  has  never  been 
built  upon  is  the  saddest  sight  upon  a  city  street. 
A  crumbling  foundation  on  which  a  building  which 
is  now  burnt  down  once  stood  is  sad.  Still  it  has 
the  memory  of  having  once  done  its  true  work.  But 
a  foundation  that  has  been  well  laid  and  then 
stopped  short  and  had  no  house  built  on  it  is  the 
most  sad  of  all.  At  once  it  suggests  its  human 
parallel,  "  This  man  began  to  build  but  was  not 
able  to  finish,"  we  say.  "So  is  he  who  layeth  up 
treasure  for  himself  but  is  not  rich  toward  God," 
The  first  life  that  has  stopped  short  and  never  gone 
on  to  complete  itself  in  the  higher  lives,  mere  vital- 
ity which  has  advanced  and  opened  into  no  great 
character  and  usefulness,  these  are  the  human  paral- 
lels of  the  foundation  stones  upon  which  the  bank- 


114  THE   SACREDNESS   OF   LIFE. 

rupt  or  discouraged  or  fickle-minded  builder  never 
has  gone  on  to  build  his  house. 

You  have  only  to  add  one  element  to  our  simple 
metaphor  and  it  becomes  complete.  You  have  only 
to  conceive  of  the  foundation  stones  becoming  con- 
scious of  themselves  and  knowing  what  is  happening 
to  them,  and  then  they  represent  completely  that 
earliest,  rudimentary  life  upon  the  basis  of  which  all 
the  other  lives  rest  and  which  finds  its  value  in  its 
power  to  carry  and  develop  them.  Let  the  founda- 
tion feel  the  unbuilt  building,  and  what  joy  must  fill 
it  as  it  finds  itself  growing  more  compact  and  solid. 
Every  blow  of  the  hammer  which  makes  it  more  fit 
for  what  it  is  to  carry  rings  like  a  bell  from  the 
steeple  that  is  some  day  to  pierce  the  sky.  Surely 
there  is  something  which  corresponds  to  that  in  the 
human  life.  Surely  the  mere  vitality,  the  mere  ani- 
mal living,  if  we  choose  to  call  it  so,  may  be  a  differ- 
ent thing  in  the  young  human  animal  from  what  it  is 
or  can  be  in  the  young  animal  of  any  other  kind, 
because  of  the  premonitions,  however  dim  and  vague, 
of  the  life  of  intellect  and  of  love  and  of  religion 
which  are  to  rest  upon  it.  And  when  the  years  pass 
and  no  house  is  built,  when  only  the  foundation 
stands,  must  not  that,  too,  if  we  imagine  into  it  a 
consciousness,  be  disappointed  and  full  of  the  sense 
of  failure  in  a  way  which  will  find  its  parallel  in  the 
life  of  every  man  whose  life  lingers  as  the  years  go 
by  in  the  first  rudimentary  conditions  and  never  ad- 
vances to  any  of  the  higher  uses  for  which  it  was 
made.  O  the  unused  foundations  of  character 
which  stand  along  our  human  streets  and  make  the 


THE   SACREDNESS   OF   LIFE.  IIJ 

city  of  our  human  life  so  tragical,  O  the  men  here 
who  are  nothing  but  grown-up  boys,  who  have  never 
built  upon  their  boyhood  any  real  manly  life.  O 
the  bodily  vigor  that  has  never  been  put  to  any 
strong  work  for  God  or  fellow-man ;  the  quick  senses 
that  have  never  been  put  to  any  higher  employment 
than  the  shooting  of  a  bird ;  the  observation  of  our 
brethren  that  once  was  healthy  sympathy  but  has 
developed  into  no  true  interest  in  our  brethren's  best 
good  and  so  remains  to-day  only  in  the  wretched 
shape  of  the  old  man's  or  the  old  woman's  taste  for 
gossip  and  scandal.  O  the  fresh  spontaneity  which 
never  having  found  its  true  task  wanders  still  in  dilet- 
tante dissipation  among  a  thousand  fancies.  O  the 
first  crude  imaginations  about  God,  which  never  hav- 
ing been  refined  and  elevated  by  careful  and  loving 
thought  about  Him  have  settled  down  into  the  bigot- 
ries and  idolatries  of  middle  life.  These  are  the 
specimens  of  what  I  mean  by  the  primary,  rudi- 
mentary life  becoming  sad  and  miserable  because  it 
does  not  go  boldly  and  freely  on  to  fulfil  itself  in  the 
higher  lives.  The  temporal  life  which  is  not  allowed 
to  open  into  the  eternal  life  becomes  corrupt  and 
feeble  in  its  temporalness.  The  man  who  does  not 
carry  forward  his  care  for  himself  and  complete  it 
with  a  loving  care  for  God  and  for  God's  children, 
loses  the  best  power  of  self -care.  He  who  having 
asked  God  for  life  does  not  take  the  deeper  and  longer 
life  which  comes  in  answer  to  his  prayer  loses  the 
best  joy  of  the  life  which  he  does  try  to  take. 

I  have  prolonged  these  definitions  and  illustrations 
because  I  was  very  anxious  to  make  clear  even  by 


Il6  THE   SACREDNESS   OF   LIFE. 

much  reiteration  how  there  are  these  two  Hves  in 
every  full  grown  man,  the  life  for  which  man  asks 
and  the  deeper  life  which  God  gives ;  and  how  these 
two  stand  always  related  to  one  another,  as  the  house 
to  the  foundation  on  which  it  is  built,  or,  perhaps 
better,  as  the  pattern  to  the  stuff  into  whose  sub- 
stance it  is  woven.  And  I  have  done  all  this  because 
I  wanted  to  get  at  this  further  question  which  seems 
to  me  to  be  very  pressingly  important.  What  effect 
upon  our  treatment  of  the  lower  life  will  such  a  vision 
of  the  higher  life  which  ought  to  be  built  on  it  pro- 
duce. At  first  it  might  seem  as  if  the  mere  physical 
life  and  all  that  belongs  to  it  would  seem  contempt- 
ible and  only  worthy  of  neglect  to  one  who  had 
caught  sight  of  the  diviner  purposes  of  living.  But 
very  soon  we  see  that  that  is  not  so.  It  gives  us 
new  ideas  about  the  mere  fact  of  life  when  we  thus 
discern  the  loftier  purposes  of  life,  but  it  does  not 
make  life  contemptible  or  insignificant.  Let  us  see 
what  one  or  two  of  such  ideas  are. 

The  first  of  them  is  obedience.  Any  man  who 
knows  that  his  bodily  life  and  all  that  immediately 
belongs  to  it  has  its  real  value  as  the  scene  of  expe- 
rience and  the  material  of  operations  which  belong 
to  the  mind  and  the  soul,  must  of  necessity  seek  for 
some  power  to  whom  the  mind  and  body  belong 
and  ask  of  Him  to  make  the  body  ready  for  the  high 
and  mysterious  functions  of  which  it  can  itself  be 
most  imperfectly  aware,  for  which  it  can  but  most 
imperfectly  prepare  itself.  To  give  ourselves  into 
the  will  of  God  that  He  may  do  in  us  that  which 
He   made   us   for,   which  we   ourselves  but  dimly 


THE  SACREDNESS  OF  LIFE.  II7 

understand,  that  is  the  only  true  completion  of  our 
life.  O  how  we  talk  of  submission  to  God  as  if  it 
were  the  hard  concession  to  necessity  or  else  as  if  it 
were  the  last  refuge  of  despair  instead  of  being  what 
it  is,  the  fulfilment  and  consummation  of  our  life. 
As  if  you  took  the  chisel  which  had  been  trying  to 
carve  by  itself  and  put  it  into  the  hand  of  Michael 
Angelo,  so  only  infinitely  higher  is  it  when  you  teach 
your  soul  to  say  "  O  Lord,  not  my  will  but  thy  will 
be  done. "  It  is  no  cry  of  a  defeated  man.  It  is  the 
soul  seizing  on  the  privilege  and  the  right  of  having 
itself  completed  after  God's  pattern.  The  parable 
of  the  prodigal  son  has  the  whole  story  in  it.  The 
man  submitting  is  the  man  completed.  O  if  our 
brave,  self-confident  young  men  only  knew  this. 
Full  of  pure  joy  in  life  as  life,  full  of  the  delight  of 
"  mere  living,"  they  look  forward  and  the  dream 
comes  to  them  that  sometime  or  other  life  may  break 
and  then  they  will  go  to  God  for  repair,  sometime  or 
other  (so  they  shuddering  feel)  they  may  fall  into 
terrible  sin  and  then  they  will  go  to  God  for  forgive- 
ness. But  to  go  to  God  now  for  completeness,  to 
go  and  lay  life  into  the  obedience  of  God  as  a  dia- 
mond lays  itself  into  the  sunshine  that  the  mere 
surface  brilliancy  may  deepen  and  region  behind 
region  of  splendor  be  revealed  below,  that  does  not 
seem  to  come  into  their  thought.  The  cry  "  sub- 
mit, submit,"  "  obey,  obey,"  seems  to  them  to 
mean  "  come  down!  come  down!  "  But  it  really 
means  "  come  up!  "  Let  God  who  has  given  you 
so  abundantly  the  earthly  life,  the  life  of  time,  give 
you  into  and  through  it,  the  life  of  Heaven,  the 
eternal  life. 


Il8  THE   SACREDNESS  OF  LIFE. 

2.  Again  our  doctrine  enforces  most  impressively, 
I  think,  the  need  of  purity  in  the  Hfe  of  the  body 
for  the  soul's  sake.  Here  are  you,  let  us  say,  just 
where  King  David  was  when  as  a  boy  he  lived  in 
that  bright,  sunny,  superficial  life  which  Mr.  Brown- 
ing describes  in  the  verses  which  I  quoted  some  time 
ago,  the  life  of  the  mountain  and  the  fountain  and 
the  river  bed,  the  life  of  physical  spirits  and  the  joy 
of  mere  existence.  Not  yet  have  opened  the  deeper 
depths  to  you.  Not  yet  have  you  begun  to  hunger 
after  truth,  to  puzzle  over  the  problems  of  the  world, 
to  seek  for  spiritual  holiness.  But  you  know  the 
time  for  all  those  deeper  lives  must  come  to  you. 
You  would  not  bear  to  think  of  yourself  as  possibly 
going  on  forever  living  thus  only  on  the  outside. 
You  mean  to  be  religious  some  day.  Of  course  the 
true,  the  only  true  way  is  to  be  religious  now.  Now 
is  the  real  time  to  open  these  deeper  lives  which  you 
do  mean  some  day  to  live.  But  till  you  open  them, 
while  you  are  lingering  and  hesitating  and  living  still 
in  the  fresh  delights  of  the  external  life,  it  is  good 
that  you  should  feel  already  the  influence  of  that 
deeper  life  which  is  to  be  some  day,  begging  you  to 
keep  the  life  in  which  you  are  living  even  now  pure 
for  its  sake.  O  if  I  could  let  you  see  the  men  who, 
when  they  come  to  the  great  effort  to  be  Christians, 
find  a  terrible  remonstrance  in  the  dulness  and  heavi- 
ness of  their  whole  being  brought  on  them  by  years 
of  dissipation  or  of  idleness.  Here  is  the  young 
man  who  is  not  a  Christian  yet.  He  might  be. 
Let  him  not  think  for  a  moment  that  it  is  only  for 
old  men  to  give  themselves  to  the  gracious  service 


THE  SACREDNESS   OF  LIFE.  II9 

of  the  Son  of  man.  Thank  God,  there  are  some 
boys  among  you  who  have  learned  better  than  that 
the  chances  and  privileges  of  our  human  life.  But 
this  young  man  is  not  a  Christian  yet.  Can  he  do 
anything  even  now  ?  Surely  he  can  !  If  ever  he  gives 
himself  to  God's  service  it  must  be  with  these  hands 
that  he  will  do  the  will  of  the  Lord  whom  he  will 
then  love  with  all  his  heart.  Therefore  let  him  keep 
these  hands  pure  and  make  them  alert  and  strong. 
If  ever  he  seeks  for  the  signs  of  his  then  acknowl- 
edged God  in  all  creation,  it  must  be  through  these 
eyes  and  through  all  these  senses  that  the  rich,  over- 
whelming witness  must  pour  in.  Therefore  let  him 
guard  those  senses  from  the  least  taint  of  impurity, 
from  the  sluggishness  and  obstruction  which  falls 
like  a  curse  upon  the  body  in  which  a  man  has  lived 
a  dissipated  life.  If  this  young  man  ever,  made  a 
Christian,  is  to  enter  into  the  deep  and  helpful  asso- 
ciations with  his  fellow-men  which  are  the  delight  and 
duty  of  the  Christian  life,  it  will  be  by  the  profounder 
opening  and  the  broader  extension  of  these  social 
relations  in  which  he  is  living  now  that  that  new 
social  life  will  come,  therefore  let  him  keep  these 
social  relations  scrupulously  clean  and  true.  This 
is  the  way  in  which  you  may  be  faithful  already  to 
whatever  unguessed  deeper  life  God  has  in  His  in- 
tentions for  you.  No  man  is  living  worthily  who  is 
not  faithful  already  to  the  future  life  which  he  does 
not  yet  understand,  but  which  he  knows  must  come. 
"  Your  bodies  are  the  temples  of  the  Holy  Ghost," 
says  Paul.  Before  the  God  has  occupied  the  temple, 
the  temple  must  feel  the  influence  of  his  promised 


I20  THE  SACREDNESS  OF  LIFE. 

coming  and  keep  its  empty  courts  clean  for  Him. 
Are  there  not  some  men  here,  not  yet  devoted  to 
the  highest  life  which  is  Christ's  service,  who  are  yet 
conscious  enough  of  some  mysterious  richness  of 
experience  of  life  before  them,  to  make  them  ready 
to  listen  when  one  begs  them  to  keep  their  whole 
present  life,  their  whole  bodily  life  pure  and  true 
and  active,  so  that  whatever  may  claim  them  in  the 
days  to  come  shall  find  them  with  natures  so  fresh 
and  sound  that  they  can  answer  to  its  claim. 

I  know  indeed  that  it  is  out  of  the  very  substance 
of  our  sins  that  God's  unbounded  and  ingenious 
mercy  can  make  the  new  life.  I  know  that  into  the 
shattered  structure  of  a  misused  and  degraded  body 
He  can  pour  His  spiritual  strength.  I  know  that  on 
the  tattered  canvas  of  a  profligate  life  he  can  weave 
the  glorious  patterns  of  His  grace.  But  truths  like 
these,  confirmed  by  multitudes  of  notable  histories, 
must  never  make  us  think  so  base  a  heresy  as  that  a 
man  must  go  through  wickedness  to  get  to  goodness, 
or  that  a  pure  youth  does  not  display  a  fairer  theatre 
for  the  work  of  grace  than  a  young  life  all  torn  and 
stained  with  sin.  Every  man's  youth,  be  it  as  pure 
as  it  may,  will  offer  enough  for  God  to  forgive, 
enough  from  which  the  soul,  come  to  its  conversion, 
can  gather  the  fruits  of  humble  penitence.  But  it 
will  always  be  the  hills  which  lift  themselves  the 
highest  in  the  dark  and  look  most  frankly  toward 
the  quarter  from  which  the  promising  must  come 
when  it  does  come ;  it  will  always  be  these  hills  that 
will  first  and  most  easily  and  most  richly  catch  the 
glory  of  the  rising  sun.     Therefore  keep  your  life 


THE  SACREDNESS  OF  LIFE.  121 

pure  that  some  day  God  may  make  it  holy!  Be 
faithful  already  to  the  faith  which  shall  be  yours 
some  day. 

3.  Let  me  say  one  single  but  most  earnest  word 
about  the  necessary  sacredness  and  inviolability 
which  this  truth  of  ours  when  it  is  thoroughly 
accepted  gives  to  our  physical  life.  Nothing,  I  be- 
lieve, can  give  a  man  a  sure,  reliable  conviction  that 
under  no  circumstances  of  pain  or  disappointment 
has  he  a  right  to  cast  away  his  life,  nothing  can  give 
and  keep  to  a  man  a  true  and  manly  certainty  that 
he  is  bound,  no  matter  how  he  hates  it,  to  stand  at 
the  post  where  God  has  put  him  till  the  God  who 
put  him  there  calls  him  away,  except  the  clear  per- 
ception that  this  physical  life  is  but  the  material  and 
condition  of  deeper  spiritual  life  which  is  the  only 
finally  valuable  thing.  The  man  whose  whole  na- 
ture is  steeped  in  and  pervaded  by  that  truth  will 
stand  in  spite  of  everything,  while  God  in  any  way, 
through  the  pain  of  the  body,  if  need  be,  calls  up 
the  soul  and  bids  it  live  its  life,  and  makes  the  man 
by  suffering  which  he  will  not  run  away  from,  a 
spiritual  man. 

Every  now  and  then  a  strange  phenomenon  ap- 
pears which  shows  how  the  sacredness  of  life  depends 
upon  the  preservation  of  clear  ideas  of  the  deepest 
purposes  of  life.  Every  now  and  then  some  physi- 
cian or  some  other  man  whose  eye  is  fastened  prin- 
cipally on  man's  physical  structure  stands  up  with 
the  plea  that  if  a  man  is  sick  with  an  incurable  dis- 
ease and  doomed  to  hopeless  suffering  it  is  the  right 
and  even  the  duty  of  science  to  relieve  him  of  his 


122  THE   SACREDNESS   OF   LIFE. 

sufferings  by  gently  taking  away  his  life.  It  is  ar» 
atrocious  insult  to  the  essential  and  inalienable 
sacredness  of  life.  "  There  is  nothing  but  suffering 
for  this  poor  creature,"  cries  such  an  arrogant  doc- 
tor, "  therefore  let  him  die!  "  Nothing  but  suffer- 
ing !  As  if  God  were  not  every  day  using  the  body's 
suffering  to  cultivate  the  soul's  eternal  life.  As  if 
just  as  soon  as  there  was  a  hard  lesson  to  be  learned 
you  ought  to  kill  the  scholar.  One  trembles  as  he 
thinks  what  pictures  of  human  patience,  what  vis- 
ions of  ripened  character  which  have  been  revelations 
and  inspirations  to  generations  of  mankind,  what 
spectacles  of  the  spiritual  possibilities  of  humanity, 
nay,  what  sights  of  refined  and  exalted  happiness  in 
the  triumph  of  the  spirit  over  the  flesh,  must  have 
been  lost  to  the  world  if  doctors  such  as  these  had 
had  their  way  from  the  beginning.  No !  The  life 
of  the  human  body  is  a  sacred  thing,  because  in  it 
and  through  it  comes  the  deeper  life.  Man  must 
stand  by  his  post,  and  no  other  man  must  drive  him 
from  it,  because  so  only  can  God  give  man  His  best 
revelations  and  use  him  for  His  most  effective  work. 
And  so  we  come  back  to  King  David  and  our 
text.  The  old,  old  prayer  for  life.  How  the  whole 
world  has  rung  with  it!  In  what  various  tones  it 
has  gone  up  to  God.  Not  merely  from  sick  beds 
where  hfe  seemed  to  be  just  slipping  away  out  of 
the  grasp  of  desperate  men.  Not  merely  at  the  foot 
of  thrones  where  wretches  begged  their  tyrants  not 
to  cut  short  their  wretched  days.  But  all  the  stir 
of  living  is  a  cry  for  life.  All  the  struggle  of  busi- 
ness is  an  appeal  of  man  to  live.     All  industry,  all 


THE   SACREDNESS   OF   LIFE.  123 

enterprise,  all  thought,  echoes  with  the  dread  of 
death,  the  prayer  for  life !  And  God  hears  it  and 
gives  the  world,  and  gives  to  you  and  me,  day  by 
day,  the  life  we  ask.  But  oh,  that  as  He  gives  it  to 
us  day  by  day  we  may  know  the  full  richness  of 
what  He  gives.  Every  morning  He  puts  into  our 
hands  anew  the  mystery  of  our  existence.  The 
chance  to  think  true  thoughts,  to  do  brave  and  kind 
deeds,  to  love  him,  and  to  help  our  brethren — these, 
the  great  chances  of  the  soul,  these,  the  eternal  life, 
the  "long  life  even  forever  and  ever"  He  gives  us 
day  by  day  when  we  ask  for  life.  O  may  He  give 
us  something  more,  the  gift  of  His  own  sight  that 
we  may  know  as  He  knows  all  the  depth  of  this  life 
which  He  gives  to  us,  and  live  it  obediently  and 
purely  and  patiently,  and  so  come  in  it  and  by  it 
always  nearer  to  Him  who  gives  it  to  us. 


VIII. 

THE  GIFTS   OF  GOD. 

••  Then  Peter  said,  Silver  and  gold  have  I  none,  but  such  as  I 
have  give  I  unto  thee." — Acts  iii.  6. 

It  was  the  first  miracle  which  the  apostles  wrought 
after  Jesus  had  left  them.  Peter  and  John,  full  of 
their  new  power  and  with  the  mystery  of  their  new 
life  all  stretching  out  before  them,  went  up  into  the 
temple  at  the  hour  of  prayer.  They  passed  through 
the  crowd  that  always  was  gathered  there,  and  at 
the  door,  just  as  he  might  crouch  beside  any  church- 
door  to-day,  there  sat  a  crippled  beggar.  And  per- 
haps seeing  something  in  the  faces  of  these  two  men 
which  he  did  not  understand  but  which  made  him 
hopeful,  he  asked  Peter  and  John  for  charity.  They 
gave  him  no  money.  They  had  none  to  give  him. 
Poor  men  themselves,  they  were  as  destitute  of  the 
one  thing  on  which  his  heart  was  set  as  he  was. 
Silver  and  gold  they  had  none.  But  they  had  some- 
thing better.  Full  of  the  spirit  and  the  health  of 
Christ  they  had  the  power  of  giving  health  to  him, 
and  Peter  took  the  cripple  by  the  hand  and  lifted 
him  up,  and  his  feet  and  ankle  bones  received 
strength,  and  he,  leaping  up,  stood  and  walked  and 
entered  into  the  temple,  walking  and  leaping  and 
praising  God. 

ta4 


THE   GIFTS   OF  GOD.  12$ 

Such  is  the  beautiful  story.  The  goodness  of  God 
by  these  His  two  disciples  was  so  much  richer  than 
the  poor  beggar  dreamed  of.  Little  he  thought 
that  morning  as  he  left  his  house  and  crawled  up  to 
the  temple  of  what  was  coming  to  him  before  the 
night  closed  in.  To  gather  a  few  pennies  as  on 
other  begging  days  was  all  he  hoped  for ;  but  this, 
to  come  back  home  a  straight,  strong  man,  this  he 
had  never  pictured  to  himself.  It  was  a  good  in- 
stance of  the  way  in  which  men  live  with  one  an- 
other, the  hard  and  rigid  way  in  which  we  touch 
each  other's  lives.  It  is  only  in  certain  appointed 
forms,  only  through  certain  conventional  mediums, 
that  men  come  near  to  one  another  and  give  each 
other  the  help  that  man  ought  to  give  to  man.  Out 
of  the  manifold  points  in  which  we  ought  to  come 
in  contact  with  one  another,  this  or  that  is  arbi- 
trarily selected,  and  if  we  cannot  meet  there  we  stay 
apart,  and  so  it  is  often  sad  to  think  how  much  of 
the  best  which  we  might  get  from  one  another  we 
must  be  continually  losing.  This  poor  man  ex- 
pected money.  If  any  one  of  the  crowd  had  money 
and  would  give  it  he  could  help  him,  but  he  looked 
for  nothing  from  anybody  else.  And  so  we  expect 
help  and  comfort  in  working  out  this  human  life  of 
ours  from  certain  people  and  in  certain  prescribed 
ways ;  and  if  we  are  in  the  position  to  give  certain 
kinds  of  help  we  are  willing  to  accept  the  duty,  but 
all  the  time  it  seems  as  if  there  must  be  other  doors 
open  through  which  help  and  ministry  might  flow 
back  and  forth  between  us. 

For  we  all  know  that  the  best  help  that  has  been 


126  THE   GIFTS   DF   GOD. 

given  to  us  in  life  has  not  come  from  those  who  gave 
us  money  or  anything  which  money  could  represent. 
Prominent  as  money  stands  in  all  our  thoughts  of 
charity  we  owe  more  to-day  to  those  who  h?ve  never 
given  us,  perhaps  who  never  could  have  given  us  a 
penny,  but  who  have  given  us  something  that  is  far 
more  valuable  than  money — the  Peters  and  the 
Johns  who  in  some  need  have  said  to  us  as  we  looked 
up  to  them,  "  Silver  and  gold  have  I  none,  but  such 
as  I  have  give  I  unto  thee,"  and  who  then  have 
touched  some  dead  and  withered  part  of  our  nature 
and  by  their  strong  character  given  it  back  its 
strength. 

I  want  to  dwell  a  little  while  on  this.  I  want  to 
speak  of  the  invaluable  gifts  that  it  is  in  the  power 
of  man  to  give  to  man — that  is  to  say,  using  the 
word  literally,  of  the  gifts  which  cannot  be  valued 
or  estimated.  Not  the  gifts  of  money  or  influence 
which  make  the  receiver  so  much  richer,  but  the 
more  spiritual  gifts  of  life  and  character,  whereby  a 
man  may  be  benefited  not  merely  by  the  lowest  and 
grossest  but  by  the  finest  and  highest  which  his  fel- 
low-man possesses.  I  have  various  reasons  for  choos- 
ing my  subject :  I  would  make  the  rich  man  feel  that 
he  cannot  do  his  whole  duty  by  any  brother  by  gifts 
of  money,  however  lavish  they  may  be;  I  would 
make  the  poor  man  feel  that  his  poverty  by  no 
means  shuts  him  out  from  the  very  noblest  privilege 
of  charity ;  and  I  would  try  to  make  everybody  feel 
that  there  is  a  lofty  and  dignified  dependence  in 
which  we  may  always  be  looking  up  to  other  people, 
not  with  a  mean  expectation  that  they  will  give  us 


THE   GIFTS   OF   GOD.  12/ 

money  but  with  a  generous  hope  that  they  will  be- 
stow upon  us  their  intelligence,  their  inspirations, 
their  comfort,  their  religion. 

I  honor  the  influence  of  money.  I  excuse  no  man 
from  the  duty,  I  except  no  man  from  the  privilege, 
of  bounteously  and  wisely  giving  it  to  whom  it  has 
been  intrusted,  but  there  are  higher  things  to  give 
than  money,  and  any  man  who  really  wants  to  give 
something  may  find  something  to  give,  though  his 
purse  be  as  empty  as  the  purses  of  the  two  apostles. 

To  what  shall  we  apply,  then,  what  we  have  been 
saying,  in  order  to  make  it  clearer  and  more  defi- 
nite ?  I  apply  it  in  a  very  few  words  first  to  ideas, 
then  to  moral  inspirations,  then  to  sympathy,  and 
then  to  religion.  A  man  may  be  able  to  give  any  of 
these,  and  yet  be  very  poor  in  silver  and  gold. 

I.  First,  then,  about  the  ideas  or  the  knowledge 
that  comes  to  us  in  anj'  way.  They  are  beyond  all 
value  in  mere  money  terms.  It  does  not  need  a  very 
high  attainment  to  be  able  to  say  "  More  than  all 
the  money  that  I  have  made  in  life  is  the  knowledge 
that  I  have  gained."  Many  a  poor  student,  looking 
about  him,  is  able  with  a  perfectly  honest  heart  to 
say,  "  If  I  had  my  life  to  live  over  again  I  would 
not  choose  differently.  I  would  give  it  again  to 
winning  knowledge,  not  to  winning  wealth,  for 
knowledge  is  more  to  me  than  wealth  is."  But 
while  the  clear  sense  of  the  superior  value  of  knowl- 
edge is  thus  no  uncommon  thing,  the  feeling  of 
responsibility  about  knowledge  as  something  that 
a  man  has  no  right  to  keep  to  himself  is  much  less 
common  than  it  is  about  money.     Many  a  man  has 


128  THE  GIFTS  OF  GOD. 

a  blind  notion  of  stewardship  about  his  property, 
but  very  few  have  it  about  their  knowledge.  We 
all  feel  that  it  is  disgraceful  for  a  man  to  be  very 
rich  and  give  nothing  away,  but  we  look  compla- 
cently enough  at  the  man  who  makes  his  culture  a 
mere  selfish  luxury.  One  grows  tired  of  seeing  cul- 
tivated people  with  all  their  culture  cursed  by  selfish- 
ness. But  surely  to  give  a  man  an  idea  is  better 
than  to  give  him  a  dollar,  unless  he  is  starving  and 
needs  something  to  eat  upon  the  spot.  And  if  you, 
among  my  hearers,  who  have  no  money  to  give 
away  but  have  been  trained  to  careful  study,  to 
serious  and  thoughful  lives,  only  knew  it,  you  have  a 
power  of  charity  that  no  millionaire  possesses.  Not 
in  some  special  form,  not  by  mounting  the  preach- 
er's pulpit  or  the  professor's  chair,  but  by  steadily 
bearing  in  mind  that  what  you  know  and  think,  you 
know  and  think  not  for  yourselves  alone  but  for 
others,  you  may  become  the  centre  of  a  little  green 
spot  of  intelligence  in  the  midst  of  this  arid  wilderness 
which  we  call  society,  as  a  live  tree  gathers  the  mois- 
ture and  keeps  off  the  sun  for  a  little  circle  of  grass 
that  grows  bright  and  rich  under  its  branches.  It  is 
better  than  silver  and  gold.  The  dollar  is  spent  and 
the  man  again  is  hungry,  but  the  idea  is  implanted, 
the  intelligence  is  stirred,  and  the  man  is  richer  and 
happier  forever. 

2,  This  is  one  sort  of  charity  which  is  far  above 
money.  But  take  another.  Higher  than  intelli- 
gence or  knowledge,  as  a  gift  from  man  to  man,  is 
moral  inspiration.  It  is  good  to  give  a  man  a  new 
idea,  but  surely  it  is  better  to  give  him  a  high  mo- 


THE   GIFTS  OF   GOD.  1 29 

tive.  The  motives  of  the  noblest  actions  are  lying 
all  about  us  all  the  time.  Men  are  too  dull  and 
gross  to  find  them.  As  a  man's  nature  becomes 
finer  it  becomes  capable  of  transmitting  pure  and 
loftier  impulses,  and  finding  for  them  an  entrance 
into  the  lives  of  other  men.  Thus  it  is  that  into  a 
community  that  is  all  discouraged  and  demoralized 
there  comes  some  bright,  pure,  simple-hearted  man 
who  believes  in  honesty  and  loves  principles,  and  by 
and  by  the  low  tone  of  the  men  he  lives  among  is 
shamed  by  him,  and  men  catch  his  moral  spirit  and 
try  to  live  like  him.  Has  he  not  given  them  some- 
thing better  than  money  ?  Or  a  poor  broken  man 
comes  to  you  when  your  purse  is  empty,  and  you 
are  just  going  out  to  earn  something  for  yourself, 
and  you  succeed  in  making  him  feel  that  it  is  better 
to  earn  than  to  beg;  you  succeed  in  touching  the 
rusty  key  of  his  independence,  and  he  goes  back 
with  a  refreshed  manhood,  determined  to  help  him- 
self. Tell  me,  is  there  any  comparison  between 
what  you  have  done  for  him  and  what  you  would 
have  done  if  you  could  have  filled  his  pockets  with 
gold,  and  feasted  his  hunger  off  of  silver  dishes  ? 
And  so  to  reawaken  the  sense  of  purity  in  a  gross, 
licentious  nature,  breathing  over  the  hot  and  lustful 
manhood  a  fresh,  cool  breeze  out  of  the  long-deserted 
mountains  of  his  youth,  to  stir  the  impulse  of  honor 
in  a  crawling  sycophant,  to  make  a  coward  coura- 
geous or  a  scoffer  reverent — these  are  greater  gifts 
than  money.  These  are  greater  even  than  the  cur- 
ing of  diseases  or  the  strengthening  and  straightening 
of  cripples  such  as  John  and  Peter  met.     And  think 


I30  THE   GIFTS   OF   GOD. 

what  poor  people  they  are  who  may  give  gifts  Hke 
these.  Poverty  itself  gives  the  chance  often  for  that 
fortitude  that  inspires  other  men  to  bear  their  trials. 
It  is  the  broken  windows  out  of  which  these  lights 
shine.  It  is  the  look  of  a  little  child  that  often  calls 
back  purity  or  honor  to  a  degenerate  old  man.  It 
is  not  necessary  to  have  anything,  often  it  is  not 
necessary  even  to  do  anything.  It  is  only  necessary 
to  be  good  and  brave  and  true  and  patient  and  we 
give  our  brethren  gifts  far  beyond  all  value,  great 
generous  impulses  and  strong  true  principles. 

3.  And  then,  thirdly,  comes  sympathy!  We 
know  that  there  are  times  when  any  gift  which  can 
be  measured  by  money-values  becomes  totally 
worthless.  There  are  the  times  when  you  are  in  the 
deepest  perplexity  or  the  profoundest  sorrow,  when 
it  would  be  insult  and  mockery  for  anybody  to  come 
to  you  and  overwhelm  you  with  the  most  enormous 
fortune  that  the  country  has  to  show.  A  man  goes 
on  heaping  up  his  fortune,  money  seems  to  be  his 
only  craving.  He  works  for  it  all  the  time  he  is 
awake  and  he  dreams  of  it  all  the  time  he  is  asleep. 
He  lives  for  it,  and  by  the  way  in  which  he  lavishes 
his  health  in  its  pursuit  it  seems  as  if  he  would  die 
for  it.  And  then  all  of  a  sudden  some  great  sorrow 
comes  to  him,  and  how  everything  is  altered!  His 
child  dies,  and  how  the  values  of  things  are  all  con- 
fused in  an  instant !  Money — his  chest  so  full  that 
he  can  bury  and  bathe  his  hands  in  gold — what  is  it 
worth  ?  Men  who  can  tell  him  nothing  except  how 
to  make  more  money,  what  does  he  care  for  them  ? 
But  out  of  utter  obscurity  comes  someone — a  pau- 


THE   GIFTS   OF   GOD.  I3I 

per,  perhaps,  whom  he  has  helped,  a  servant,  it  may- 
be, who  has  crept  unnoted  about  his  house,  a  friend 
whom  he  has  looked  on  with  something  like  con- 
tempt, so  utterly  destitute  was  he  of  the  power  of 
wealth — and  he  brings  the  unutterable,  the  invalu- 
able power  of  sympathy.  He  lets  that  stricken  man 
know  that  one  heart  is  bitterly  sorry  for  his  suffer- 
ing, and  by  the  strength  of  love  he  casts  some  light 
into  the  dark  mystery  that  lies  behind  the  sorrow. 
This  is  the  power  of  sympathy.  It  includes  both 
the  other  gifts  of  which  we  spoke.  He  who  truly 
gives  sympathy  enlightens  the  intelligence  and 
restrings  the  enfeebled  moral  nature  of  him  with 
whom  he  sympathizes.  But  he  does  something 
more  than  this.  He  makes  some  personal  bestowal 
of  himself,  of  his  own  strength,  his  own  life,  into 
the  weakness  and  deadness  that  he  tries  to  help.  It 
is  indeed  a  wondrous  gift  for  man  to  give  to 
man. 

4.  But  this  is  not  all.  A  man  gives  to  another 
man  his  ideas,  his  inspirations  and  his  consolations, 
but  if  he  is  all  that  a  man  may  be,  then  there  is 
something  more  that  he  can  give.  If  he  has  God, 
if  he  has  taken  Christ  into  his  nature  so  that  his  life 
is  a  continual  following  of  the  Lord's,  then  see  what 
a  power  of  benefaction  that  man  may  have.  It  re- 
quires nothing  great  or  exceptional  in  him.  Cer- 
tainly not  great  wealth.  That  has  nothing  whatever 
to  do  with  it.  Not  great  ability  or  knowledge,  that 
has  hardly  more.  Only  the  power  to  know  God  and 
to  tell  about  him.  The  little  Hebrew  maiden  is  so 
humble  that  she  may  not  even  go  to  the  great  Syrian, 


132  THE  GIFTS  OF  GOD. 

captive  herself.  She  tells  his  wife,  and  the  wife 
repeats  it  to  her  husband,  "  Would  God  my  Lord 
were  with  the  prophet  "  ;  and  Naaman  goes  to  God's 
prophet,  and  comes  back  with  his  new  health  again 
almost  as  if  the  proud  man  had  taken  it  out  of  the 
maiden's  little  hand.  History  delights  in  the  little 
insignificant  people  who  have  turned  the  world's 
tides;  and  religious  history  has  nothing  of  which  she 
so  delights  to  tell  as  the  way  in  which  the  little 
have  been  able  to  lead  the  great  to  Christ.  For  re- 
member the  Christian  religion  is  Christ's  friendship. 
We  cannot  come  to  any  truer  friend  as  we  cannot 
find  a  simpler  story  to  tell  of  it  than  that.  The 
Christian  who  comes  then  with  glowing  face  and 
says,  "  I  wish  that  you  would  believe  my  Christ," 
has  to  bear  witness  to  me  only  of  one  thing — that  he 
has  a  human  heart,  and  that  that  heart  has  found 
its  satisfaction  in  the  Christ  to  whom  he  invites  me. 
His  glowing  face  tells  me  both  of  these.  All  that  is 
new  in  him  bears  witness  that  he  has  really  found 
the  great  Renewer.  I,  wanting  to  be  made  new, 
arise  and  go  and  find  Christ,  and  He  does  His 
blessed  work  for  me.  I  cannot  take  that  friend's 
faith  for  my  own.  When,  finally,  I  stand  with 
Christ  and  call  Him  mine,  it  is  like  those  people  of 
Samaria  who  said  unto  the  woman,  "  Now  we  be- 
lieve, not  because  of  thy  word  but  we  have  seen 
Him  ourselves  "  ;  but  nevertheless  do  you  think 
these  men  never  thought  of  the  woman  as  the  one 
who  had  done  for  them  the  greatest  thing  that  one 
human  creature  can  do  for  another?  She  had  intro- 
duced them  to  Jesus,  and  whoever  does  that  for  any 


THE   GIFTS  OF  GOD.  1 33 

fellow-man,  whoever  by  a  Christian  word  he  speaks 
or  by  a  Christian  life  he  lives,  brings  a  new  soul  to 
see  the  perfect  life  and  take  the  perfect  grace,  has 
poured  out  of  his  full  hands  a  blessing  on  his  brother 
that  leaves  utterly  out  of  sight  any  gift  that  riches 
can  bestow  on  poverty.  It  is  terrible  f  )r  a  rich  man 
to  go  through  life  and  never  have  helped  a  poor  man 
once  out  of  his  plenty,  but  it  is  far  more  terrible  for 
a  Christian  to  die  without  having  brought  any  other 
soul  to  Christ. 

See  then  what  great  gifts  they  can  give  who  have 
no  silver  and  no  gold.  See  what  bounty  the  souls 
of  very  poor  men  may  lavish  upon  one  another. 
Intelligence,  inspiration,  comfort,  religion — these 
are  the  things  which  men  are  needing  everywhere. 
Ignorant,  spiritless,  wretched,  Christless  lives  are  all 
about  us.  To  help  them,  to  give  them  what  they 
want,  we  do  not  need  to  be  rich.  As  much  as  these 
needs  of  theirs  outgo  their  need  of  wealth,  so  much 
does  the  bounty  that  supplies  these  needs  surpass 
the  bounty  that  should  simply  spread  their  tables 
and  fill  their  purses.  O  poor  man,  you  who  want 
to  be  charitable  and  seem  to  be  shut  out  from 
the  great  privilege  by  your  poverty,  look  up,  take 
courage!  Here  is  what  you  may  do.  Here  is  what 
you  may  give.  Out  of  the  free  presence  of  God, 
out  of  that  costless  mercy  of  Christ  which  is  yours 
always,  you  may  gather  these  boons  with  which  to 
satisfy  your  brother's  wants.  What  a  new  life  we 
should  have,  what  a  new  world  we  should  be  if  all 
men  really  were  living  to  give  these  precious  things 
to  one  another 


134  THE   GIFTS   OF   GOD. 

It  is  not  hard  to  see  what  it  is  that  gives  their 
superior  value  to  these  higher  bounties.  It  is  that 
the  giver  necessarily  goes  with  them.  Of  all  the 
worshippers  who  passed  into  the  temple  many  a  one 
may  have  dropt  his  bit  of  silver  into  the  cripple's 
hand,  but  the  silver  was  not  the  man,  the  man  need 
not  go  with  the  silver.  But  when  Peter  and  John 
came,  and  Peter  gave  him  his  health,  that  was  not 
something  that  could  be  given  like  a  bit  of  silver; 
Peter's  own  self,  his  heart,  his  soul,  had  to  go  out 
to  the  poor  suppliant.  We  cannot  but  believe  that 
he  felt  something  of  that  mysterious  experience 
which  the  great  Healer  uttered  once  when  the  poor 
woman  touched  His  robe  and  He  said,  "  Virtue  is 
gone  out  of  me." 

And  always,  there  can  be  no  really  precious  gift 
either  to  giver  or  to  taker,  with  which  the  self  of 
the  giver  does  not  go.  You  remember,  I  am  sure, 
the  story  that  our  poet  has  written  of  the  young 
knight  who  rides  out  after  the  holy  Grail,  and  as  he 
goes  flings  a  gold-piece  to  the  beggar  who  sits  be- 
side his  gate,  and  the  beggar  will  not  lift  it  from 
the  dust,  because  it  is  only  "  worthless  gold."  But 
years  pass  by  and  when  the  weary  Sir  Launfal 
comes  home,  old  and  haggard,  there  sits  the  leper 
still,  and  then  as  the  knight  breaks  his  single  crust 
and  fills  his  wooden  bowl  out  of  the  frozen  stream 
and  gives  the  beggar  food  and  drink,  the  blessing 
comes  to  him ;  the  holy  Grail,  which  is  Christ's  Pass- 
over cup,  is  found,  is  the  true  act  of  charity,  and  the 
leper  speaking  with  the  voice  of  Christ — * '  the  voice 
that  is  calmer  than  silence  " — says,   "  Who  gives 


THE  GIFTS   OF  GOD.  1 35 

himself  with  his  gift  feeds  three,  himself,  his  hunger- 
ing neighbor  and  me."  It  is  sad  indeed  to  think  of 
how  much  money  has  been  lavished  which  was  only 
"  worthless  gold  "  because  the  self  of  the  giver  was 
not  in  it. 

I  think  this  lights  up  much  about  religion,  about 
the  gifts,  that  is,  which  God  bestows  on  man.  If  it 
is  true  that  man  cannot  give  man  his  highest  gifts 
unless  he  gives  himself  with  them,  then  the  same 
must  be  true  of  God.  And  every  conception  of 
religion  which  thinks  of  God  as  standing  off  and 
handing  men  from  a  distance  bounties,  however  rich 
they  might  be,  and  does  not  make  everything  of  the 
giving  by  God  of  Himself,  His  character.  His  love, 
with  and  in  His  gift,  is  radically  wrong,  is  not  the 
gospel.  It  is  not  that  God  gives  us  meat  and  drink, 
it  is  not  even  that  He  gives  us  forgiveness  for  our 
sins  as  a  mere  forensic  and  judicial  act,  it  is  not  even 
that  He  gives  us  heaven  as  a  mere  place  of  delight, 
— these  are  not  what  bind  us  to  Him  and  make  us 
His.  If  He  could  give  us  any  of  these  without 
giving  us  Himself,  if  He  could  spread  our  tables 
heartlessly,  if  He  could  forgive  us,  as  men  have 
sometimes  talked,  because  some  one  had  borne  our 
penalty  and  forced  forgiveness  from  His  justice,  if 
He  could  open  the  gates  of  pearl  and  not  stand 
Himself  with  living  heart  to  welcome  us,  none  of 
these  gifts  would  make  us  perfectly  and  perma- 
nently His.  And  if  He  could  give  us  Himself  and 
not  give  us  some  of  these  things,  as  sometimes  He 
does  give  His  very  heart  of  hearts  to  a  poor  child 
of  His  who   is  struggling  and   starving,   that   gift 


136  THE  GIFTS  OF  GOD. 

would  satisfy  the  soul  in  lack  of  every  outward  bless- 
ing.    No,  it  is  true  of  God  as  it  is  of  man, 

'•  That  is  no  true  alms  which  the  hand  can  hold, 
He  gives  nothing  but  worthless  gold 
Who  gives  from  a  sense  of  duty." 

And  such  representations  as  many  of  our  theolo- 
gies contain  of  mercies  and  gifts  extorted  from  God's 
reluctance  by  a  hard  necessity  of  justice,  however 
they  may  be  trying  to  tell  one  side  of  the  story,  can- 
not and  do  not  picture  the  glory  and  the  power  of 
the  Gospel,  God's  free  gift  of  Himself  to  man. 

The  Incarnation  was  the  great  announcement  of 
this  truth.  God  had  been  giving  men  gifts  through 
all  the  ages.  He  had  dropped  His  bounties  thick 
through  all  His  people's  history.  Men  had  taken 
His  bounties  and  thanked  Him  for  them,  but  through 
them  all  they  had  not  reached  the  certainty  of  God 
with  them,  of  God  giving  Himself  to  them.  And 
so  He  came.  By  every  sacrifice,  by  every  identifi- 
cation of  Himself  with  the  life  that  they  were  living, 
He  gave  them  Himself.  He  was  not  satisfied  until 
He  was  the  gift,  the  very  God  given  to  man.  Mys- 
teriously, perfectly  He  put  Himself  into  their 
nature. 

And  when  He  had  come  this  same  desire  was 
always  evident.  Men  often  failed  to  reach  it.  They 
wanted  gifts.  "Give  us  bread,"  they  cried,  as  they 
followed  Him  from  place  to  place.  "  Nay,  I  am 
the  bread,"    He  answered,   "take   and  eat  me"! 

Give  me  water,"  begged  the  woman  of  Samaria, 
**  that  I  need  not  come  to  the  well  to  draw."     "  The 


THE  GIFTS  OF  GOD.  1 37 

water  that  I  shall  give  him  shall  be  in  Him,"  Christ 
replied.  He  gave  no  money  anywhere.  What  we 
call  charity  He  could  not  give,  silver  and  gold  had 
He  none.  But  knowledge,  such  as  He  gave  to  Nico- 
demus,  inspiration  such  as  He  bestowed  on  the  apos- 
tles, comfort  such  as  He  brought  into  the  cottage 
at  Bethany,  the  way  to  the  Father  as  He  opened  it 
wide  to  the  multitudes  in  the  temple,  these  He  was 
always  giving.  Himself,  His  divine  self.  He  lav- 
ished on  all  who  would  receive  Him. 

And,  brethren,  the  Incarnation  is  the  Gospel  still. 
We  grow  disappointed  sometimes,  perhaps,  when 
we  ask  for  God's  gifts  and  they  do  not  come.  We 
ask  for  health,  and  God  withholds  it.  We  ask  for 
wealth,  and  we  go  struggling  on  in  poverty.  We 
beg  for  pleasant  homes,  and  the  family  life  is  broken 
up  and  scattered.  We  want  long  life,  and  death 
stands  blankly  in  our  way.  We  send  up  our  prayer 
for  peace,  and  anxieties  come  thickening  around  us. 
Let  us  remember  always  that  these  are  God's  gifts, 
but  they  are  not  God.  Himself — His  company.  His 
love.  His  spirit — these  are  what  we  may  be  sure  of. 
This  is  what  He  never  will  refuse.  If  any  of  the 
others  stand  in  the  way  of  this,  He  will  brush  them 
all  ruthlessly  aside  that  He  may  give  Himself  com- 
pletely to  the  soul  which,  below  and  above  all  other 
needs,  needs  Him. 

That  Incarnation,  my  dear  friends,  must  be  our 
hope  and  blessing.  But  it  must  also  be  our  pattern. 
O  let  us  riot  think  that  we  cannot  share  the  self- 
sacrifice  of  God.  What  was  it  ?  It  was  the  giving 
up  of  self-centred,  isolated  joy  in  order  to  bestow 


138  THE   GIFTS   OF   GOD. 

Himself  on  man.  The  Son  was  in  the  bosom  of  the 
Father.  The  perfect  Hfe  was  his.  Each  infinite 
power  in  all  its  infinite  delight  knew  no  deficiency. 
All  knowledge,  all  happiness,  all  love  was  there. 
What  can  we  say  but  this,  that  He  was  God,  and 
then  He  came  to  be  a  servant  ?  He  "  was  anointed 
to  preach  the  Gospel  to  the  poor,  He  was  sent  to 
heal  the  broken-hearted,  to  preach  deliverance  to 
the  captives,  and  recovering  of  sight  to  the  blind,  to 
set  at  liberty  them  that  are  bruised."  Can  we  know 
anything  of  that  ?  Can  we  do  anything  like  that  ? 
Filled  with  his  love  and  spirit,  can  we  in  any  far-off 
way  repeat  that  in  ourselves  ?  Wherever  any  man 
leaves  his  own  self-contained  life  to  go  forth  into 
the  life  of  others,  wherever  any  saint  leaves  his 
closet  to  go  and  tell  the  story  of  the  Saviour,  in- 
stead of  merely  pondering  its  sweetness  by  himself, 
wherever  any  scholar  lets  his  self-culture  go  that  he 
may  lift  a  corner  of  the  cloud  of  ignorance  off  of 
some  benighted  soul,  wherever  the  missionary  makes 
himself  homeless  that  he  may  gather  some  of  the 
Father's  children  into  the  eternal  home, — there  is 
the  soul  and  spirit  of  the  Incarnation.  "  As  my 
Father  hath  sent  me,  so  send  I  you,"  He  said. 
We,  too,  may  enter  into  the  lot  of  other  men  as 
He  entered  into  ours.  He  was  not  satisfied  just  to 
be  God,  he  must  give  God.  And  whenever  we  are 
not  satisfied  merely  to  be  wise  or  happy  or  holy, 
but  must  give  wisdom  and  happiness  and  holiness, 
there  is  the  soul  and  spirit  of  the  Incarnation.  It 
would  have  been  so  easy  for  God  to  open  His  hands 
and  shower  his  bounty  on  the  world,  so  that  every 


THE   GIFTS  OF  GOD.  1 39 

field  should  overrun  with  harvest  and  every  mouth 
be  fed  with  bread ;  and  it  is  so  easy  for  us  to  open 
our  money-bags  and  give  our  money,  but  to  come 
Himself  and  to  be  to  men  wisdom  and  righteous- 
ness and  sanctification  and  redemption,  nothing  but 
that  would  satisfy  Him.  To  go  ourselves,  to  be 
one  with  the  sufferer  that  we  may  help  his  suffer- 
ing, one  with  the  darkened  that  we  may  lighten  his 
darkness,  this  is  the  only  Christliness,  the  only  com- 
plete living  of  the  life  of  Christ. 

We  might  follow  it  farther,  we  might  say  that  as 
the  true  Godhood  of  the  Saviour  with  all  its  holi- 
ness and  joy  was  not  lost  by  His  entrance  into 
humanity,  so  the  self-culture  and  the  happiness  out 
of  which  you  seem  to  depart  in  order  to  enter  into 
the  ignorance  and  misery  of  other  men,  is  not  in 
truth  surrendered.  Your  own  soul  gathers  a  ripe- 
ness which  it  could  not  have  had  abiding  alone, 
and  the  joy  that  you  seemed  to  surrender  is  multi- 
plied tenfold  when  you  begin  to  seek  not  yourself 
but  other  men.  "  He  that  loseth  his  life  finds  it." 
He  that  gives  up  himself  for  the  service  of  his 
brethren  finds  himself  in  the  service  of  his  brethren. 
Some  of  you  know  this  by  experience, — oh  that  all 
of  you  would  really  try  it  !  For  however  it  may 
puzzle  us  sometimes  to  apply  it  to  the  lower,  the 
promise  is  always  true  about  the  higher  things, 
"  Give,  and  it  shall  be  given  unto  you." 

I  have  tried  to  open  the  door  of  charity  to  some 
to  whom  it  has  seemed  to  be  shut  tight.  I  am  sure 
that  there  are  many  who  as  they  go  in  and  out  at 


I40  THE  GIFTS  OF  GOD. 

the  beautiful  gate  of  the  temple  of  a  happy  life  are 
deeply  oppressed  at  the  sight  of  the  many  who  lie 
crippled  and  miserable  outside.  They  would  like, 
they  long  to  help  them,  but  what  can  they  do  ? 
Silver  and  gold  they  have  none.  I  have  tried  to 
show  that  there  are  other  things  to  give.  Your 
intelligence,  your  principles,  your  comfort,  your 
religion — in  one  word,  yourself.  The  ways  will 
open  before  you  if  you  really  want  them.  The  first 
and  deepest  of  all  ways  is  to  have  a  self,  a  strong, 
good,  positive  character.  To  be  our  best  not 
merely  for  ourselves  but  for  each  other,  that  is  a 
noble  impulse  ;  that,  if  it  were  fully  carried  out, 
would  be  the  world's  salvation.  No  man  can  really 
be  strong  and  good  without  helping  the  world — 

"  Not  to  scatter  bread  and  gold. 
Goods  and  raiment  bought  and  sold, 
But  to  hold  fast  his  simple  sense 
And  speak  the  speech  of  innocence, 
And  with  hand  and  body  and  blood 
To  make  his  bosom  counsel  good  : 
For  he  that  feeds  men  serveth  few, 
He  serves  all  who  dares  be  true." 

Let  us  be  very  thankful  that  no  man  is  con- 
demned to  go  uselessly  through  life,  or  to  come 
before  God  at  last  without  some  souls  that  he  has 
helped  towards  their  Father. 


IX. 

THE  DISPENSATION  OF  THE  SPIRIT. 

♦'  In  demonstration  of  the  Spirit."— i  Corinthians  ii.  4. 

To  every  clear  and  sincere  mind  a  demonstration 
is  a  most  welcome  thing.  The  moment  which  brings 
it  is  full  of  light  and  joy.  To  have  it  made  abso- 
lutely certain  that  a  thing  is  true,  to  have  a  fact  set 
clearly  in  the  mind's  domain,  never  thereafter  to  be 
questioned  or  dislodged,  that  brings  a  sense  of  solid- 
ity and  peace.  The  eye  sparkles,  the  heart  leaps, 
the  feet  are  planted  firm  and  strong  when,  at  the 
end  of  a  long  process,  the  lines  gather  in  to  a  con- 
clusion, and  the  result  is  grasped  and  set  firmly 
among  the  treasures  of  the  mind.  That  fixed  cer- 
tainty becomes  a  new  starting-point.  The  future 
opens  out  of  it.  Demonstrations  which  are  yet  un- 
reached loom  dimly  in  the  distance.  That  which 
has  been  held  loosely  in  the  hand,  not  truly  believed 
because  we  were  not  sure  that  it  was  sure,  grows 
solid  as  we  hold  it,  and  out  of  its  heart,  when  once 
we  are  assured  of  it,  beat  meanings  which  it  could 
not  give  us  while  it  was  yet  in  doubt. 

We  all  are  holding  propositions  which  yet  wait  for 
the  hour  of  their  demonstration.     We  think  that 

141 


142  THE   DISPENSATION   OF   THE   SPIRIT. 

they  are  true,  but  we  cannot  give  full  and  final 
reasons  for  our  faith  either  to  ourselves  or  to  each 
other.  It  is  like  watching  the  east  before  the  sun- 
rise comes.  At  last  the  sun  leaps  from  the  horizon 
and  the  sky  is  bright.  Then  the  clouds  disappear. 
The  darkness  scatters.  The  eyes  no  longer  wander 
here  and  there.  They  are  fixed  certainly  on  this 
new  certainty.  A  new  day  has  set  itself  firm  in  his- 
tory. The  proof  is  there  round  and  red  and  radiant. 
The  demonstration  is  complete. 

But  there  are  various  kinds  of  demonstration  ac- 
cording to  the  different  kinds  of  truths  and  persons. 
St.  Paul  intimates  this  in  the  verse  from  which  my 
text  is  taken.  The  whole  verse  reads  thus:  "  My 
speech  and  my  preaching  was  not  with  enticing 
words  of  men's  wisdom,  but  in  demonstration  of  the 
Spirit  and  of  power."  He  says  that  there  was  one 
method  of  demonstration  which  he  had  not  used  to 
make  the  Corinthians  believe  his  truth,  and  another 
which  he  had  used.  The  one  which  he  had  not 
used  is  clear  enough — "  Not  with  enticing  words  of 
men's  wisdom,"  he  declares.  He  had  not  been  a 
teacher  silencing  dispute  with  arguments,  compel- 
ling assent  by  the  complete  answer  of  every  diffi- 
culty, leaving  syllogisms  in  his  hearers'  minds  by 
which  they  might  convert  any  man  they  met  upon 
the  street.  Something  more  subtle,  more  spiritual, 
more  personal,  than  that  had  been  his  power.  If  he 
had  had  the  choice  of  methods,  he  had  chosen  to 
make  his  message  not  an  argument  but  a  force.  In- 
deed he  feels  as  if  he  had  had  no  choice.  The  nature 
of  his  message  and  the  kind  of  his  belief  and  the 


THE   DISPENSATION   OF   THE   SPIRIT.  I43 

needs  of  those  to  whom  he  came  had  made  this  the 
only  possible  kind  of  approach.  And  so  he  had 
come  to  them  with  what  he  calls  the  "demonstra- 
tion of  the  spirit  of  power," 

These  three  elements  are  what  determine  the 
character  which  every  demonstration  must  assume. 
The  nature  of  the  teacher,  the  nature  of  the  learner, 
and  the  nature  of  the  message.  And  of  the  three 
the  last  is  most  despotic.  A  teacher  may  teach  in 
various  ways,  a  learner  may  be  open  upon  various 
sides,  but  the  message  decrees  its  own  method  of 
impartation  and  will  be  imparted  in  no  other.  A 
problem  in  mathematics,  for  instance,  is  devoid  of 
feeling.  It  presses  on  from  its  statement  to  its 
solution  by  a  process  purely  of  the  reason.  It  de- 
pends entirely  upon  the  clearness  of  its  statement.  It 
has  no  atmosphere.  It  is  independent  of  times  and 
places.  It  is  precisely  the  same  in  the  times  of 
Euclid  and  in  the  times  of  Pierce.  It  might  be 
spoken  through  a  phonograph  and  would  be  as  con- 
vincing as  if  it  issued  from  the  dearest  human  lips. 
A  problem  of  natural  history  is  proposed  to  the  stu- 
dent who  has  been  busy  with  his  mathematics,  and 
immediately  he  feels  a  difference.  Here  is  another 
kind  of  subject,  a  new  material,  and,  however  it 
may  seem  to  need  only  the  powers  of  observation,  it 
must  inevitably  suggest  something  of  the  mystery 
of  richness  of  the  nature  which  lives  in  such  pro- 
found connection  and  sympathy  with  man.  A 
question  in  human  history  involves  still  other  ele- 
ments. Man  in  all  his  complexity  comes  in.  The 
doubtfulness  of  records,  the  doubtfulness  of  motives. 


144  THE  DISPENSATION   OF   THE   SPIRIT. 

the  prejudices  of  the  speaker  and  the  hearer — all 
these  have  to  be  taken  into  account,  and  though  at 
last,  as  the  result  of  all,  the  demonstration  may  be 
perfect  and  the  conclusion  may  be  irresistible,  it  has 
been  reached  in  different  ways  and  is  of  different 
value  from  the  conclusions  about  mathematical  truth 
or  the  phenomena  of  nature.  I  am  as  sure  that 
Christ  lived  and  was  crucified  in  Jerusalem  as  I  am 
of  the  sum  of  the  angles  of  a  triangle  or  of  the  earth's 
revolution  on  its  axis,  but  my  certainty  comes  to 
me  in  a  different  way,  and  is  a  separate  and  special 
possession  of  my  mind,  clothed  in  its  own  value, 
kept  in  its  own  treasury. 

Every  man's  mind,  because  it  is  a  distinct  and 
individual  thing  has,  of  necessity,  its  choice  among 
the  various  kinds  of  demonstration,  and  it  is  hard 
for  almost  every  man  to  thoroughly  believe  that 
other  kinds  of  surety  are  as  absolutely  sure  as  that 
in  whose  processes  his  own  mind  happens  to  delight. 
The  mathematician  accepts  the  naturalist's  conclu- 
sions, but  does  not  feel  that  they  are  quite  as  per- 
fectly proved  as  are  the  formulas  which  he  has 
worked  out  on  his  slate.  The  historian  supposes 
that  the  metaphysician  is  right,  but  is  puzzled  by 
the  absence  of  old  chronicles  which  are  the  founda- 
tions on  which  his  truth  is  built.  But  mankind  as  a 
whole  is  larger  than  any  man,  and  humanity  holds 
its  various  truth  on  various  evidence,  yet  holds  it  all 
securely.  It  may  feel  sometimes  that  all  demonstra- 
tion has  its  weakness  and  its  limits,  that  nothing  is 
absolutely  demonstrated  in  all  the  realm  of  truth. 
But  in  the  actual  conduct  of  life,  however  it  may 


THE  DISPENSATION  OF  THE  SPIRIT.  I45 

be  with  men,  man  holds  that  there  are  various  kinds 
of  demonstration  which  bring  various  kinds  of  truth 
with  practical  certainty  before  the  mind,  and  justify 
it  in  bidding  the  active  powers  go  forward  boldly 
and  confidently  upon  its  belief. 

Let  us  beware  of  that  especial  bigotry  which  con- 
sists in  giving  value  only  to  that  particular  kind  of 
demonstration  which  appeals  to  our  peculiar  minds. 
Let  us  keep  open,  let  us,  if  need  be,  force  open  all 
the  doors  through  which  truth  comes  to  the  human 
mind.  Those  doors  all  exist  in  every  one  of  us, 
however  it  may  be  that  only  some  of  them  have  ever 
yet  been  opened  in  each  man.  Others  there  are, 
fixed  fast  with  rust  or  overgrown  with  vines,  and 
looking  like  a  portion  of  the  solid  wall,  yet  capable 
of  being  opened  and  of  letting  in  some  truth  of 
which  our  souls  have  need. 

With  all  this  clear  in  our  minds,  our  next  step  is 
to  recognize  that,  while  every  kind  of  truth  has  its 
own  kind  of  demonstration,  there  are  yet  great  gen- 
eral lines,  running  through  the  whole  mass  of  truth, 
and  dividing  it  into  groups,  to  each  of  which  in 
general  some  method  of  demonstration  will  belong. 
The  kinds  of  truth  which  I  have  used  as  illustrations 
appeal  either,  as  in  the  case  of  mathematics,  to  pure 
reason,  or,  as  in  the  case  of  history,  to  human  testi- 
mony. There  are,  however,  other  kinds  of  truth 
which  for  their  demonstration  and  acceptance  de- 
mand something  different.  They  ask  for  spiritual 
conditions,  for  a  certain  spiritual  atmosphere  through 
which  the  evidence  of  their  truth  can  be  sent  and 
received.     They  demand  personal  qualities  in  him 


146  THE   DISPENSATION   OF   THE   SPIRIT. 

who  utters  them  and  in  him  who  hears.     Let  me 
remind  you  what  some  of  the  truths  of  this  sort  are. 

1.  Take  first  the  truth  of  beauty.  "  This  statue 
is  beautiful,"  we  say.  How  do  we  know  that  ?  No 
argument  can  prove  it  to  us,  so  that  the  conviction 
of  its  beauty  becomes  really  our  possession.  No 
authority  can  make  us  sure  of  it.  No  man  can  tell 
us  it  is  beautiful  and  by  his  mere  telling  make  our 
hearts  believe.  It  must  tell  us  its  own  wondrous 
tale.  It  must  speak  itself  directly  to  our  souls.  It 
must  find  perceptions  in  us  and  claim  them.  Argu- 
ments may  come  in  afterwards  to  analyze  and  justify 
our  love.  Authority  may  reassure  us  by  letting  us 
know  that  other  men  have  felt  the  power  that  we 
feel.  But  the  essential  demonstration  must  come 
directly  from  the  beautiful  thing  to  our  power  of 
perceiving  beauty.  The  spiritual  must  be  spiritually 
discerned. 

2.  Or,  take  the  truth  that  any  particular  course  of 
action  is  right  or  wrong.  The  real,  vital  demonstra- 
tion of  that  truth  must  spring  like  a  sunbeam  di- 
rectly from  the  heart  of  the  action  to  our  moral 
sense.  You  cannot  prove  it  in  the  literal  and  ordi- 
nary way.  Any  attempt  to  reduce  its  demonstra- 
tion to  a  syllogism  degrades  its  character.  The 
authority  of  every  living  man  may  pronounce  the 
action  to  be  right,  and  yet  my  moral  sense  may  tell 
me  absolutely  that  it  is  wrong.  It  is  spirit  speaking 
to  spirit,  the  spirit  of  the  action  to  the  spirit  of  the 
man.  Into  the  stirred  conscience  falls  the  shadow 
of  the  deed,  and  the  conscience  instantly  declares  its 
verdict ;  and  the  man  is  sure. 


THE   DISPENSATION   OF   THE   SPIRIT.  147 

3.  Or,  take  the  truth  that  any  character  is  noble 
or  ignoble,  fine  or  mean.  Prove  me  that  this  your 
friend  deserves  your  confidence,  state  me  the  argu- 
ment which  justifies  the  flashing  eye  with  which 
you  kindle  at  one  of  the  spell-working  names  of  his- 
tory. Who  told  you  that  that  deed  of  the  hero  was 
a  glorious  thing  ?  How  your  soul  scorns  all  such 
appeals!  "  I  know  it,"  you  declare,  "  I  know  it  as 
I  know  the  sun.  That  is  enough.  There  is  that  in 
me  which  catches  and  holds  such  nobleness  as  the 
eye  catches  the  landscape,  as  the  hand  grasps  the 
stone.     It  is  mine  because  I  am  I  and  it  is  it." 

4.  And,  what  is  still  more  striking,  think  of  the 
subtler  fact  of  the  affections.  Who  ever  reasons  to 
himself  that  he  should  love  ?  Or,  yet  more,  who 
ever  lives  upon  authority,  because  some  one  who 
knows  has  told  him  that  this  fellow-life  is  lovable  ? 
It  is  life  bearing  direct  testimony  of  itself  to  life 
that  makes  the  demonstration.  The  nature  and 
conditions  of  the  two  lives  are  all-important  ele- 
ments, and  affection  leaps  from  one  to  the  other  as 
fire  leaps  from  wood  to  wood. 

In  all  these  illustrations  what  we  see  is  this — that 
there  are  kinds  of  truth  which  make  demonstration 
of  themselves  not  by  the  pure  reason  nor  by  author- 
ity, but  by  direct  spiritual  testimony,  borne  imme- 
diately from  the  nature  of  the  truth  to  the  nature 
of  the  receptive  and  believing  man. 

The  first  thing  of  which  we  have  to  assure  our- 
selves is  that  this  is  true  demonstration.  We  may 
not  institute  comparisons  and  say  whether  it  is  true 
or  less  true  than  other  kinds  of  demonstration  which 


148  THE   DISPENSATION   OF   THE   SPIRIT. 

are  appropriate  to  other  kinds  of  truth.  Enough 
that  this  kind  is  genuine  and  real,  a  sohd,  strong 
foundation  on  which  a  genuine  beHef  may  rest. 

And  then  we  are  prepared  to  turn  to  Paul  and  see 
how  exactly  it  is  on  this  foundation  that  he  says  he 
has  built  his  claim  that  the  Corinthians  should  take 
his  gospel.  "  Not  with  enticing  words  of  men's 
■wisdom,  but  by  demonstration  of  the  Spirit."  "  By 
demonstration  of  the  Spirit  "  !  Could  any  words 
more  perfectly  tell  that  which  I  have  been  trying  at 
such  length  to  describe  ?  Paul  says  that  what  he 
brought  one  day  into  the  bright  gate  of  the  brilliant 
city  was  not  an  argument  to  which  convinced  reason 
must  give  its  assent,  and  not  a  commandment  to 
which  the  tyrant's  authority  should  compel  obedi- 
ence, but  a  new  presence  which  should  claim  their 
spirits,  a  soul  which  their  souls  should  recognize 
and  love.  We  may  almost  see  it  stated  in  the  terms 
of  the  successive  illustrations  which  I  used  just  now. 
He  brought  a  beauty  which  appealed  to  their  spirit- 
ual perceptions  and  demanded  and  received  their 
recognition.  He  brought  a  righteousness  which 
their  consciences  knew  and  stood  up  upon  its  feet 
to  honor.  He  brought  a  character  into  whose  eyes 
they  looked  and  felt  the  essential  nobility  of  life. 
He  brought  a  Friend  whom  their  hearts  loved. 

How  the  description  takes  us  back  to  the  old  van- 
ished city.  It  is  all  gone.  There  on  the  isthmus 
between  the  two  blue  gulfs  stand  a  few  columns  of 
a  Doric  temple  which  alone  are  left  of  the  great 
splendid  city.  A  modern  town  of  squalid  huts  has 
taken  the  place  of  the  old  palaces.     Above,  to  the 


THE   DISPENSATION   OF   THE   SPIRIT.  I49 

blue  sky,  soars  the  great  hill,  the  Acrocorinthus, 
which  seeks  in  vain  at  its  feet  the  gorgeous  metro- 
polis that  it  guarded  so  long.  It  is  all  gone,  and 
yet  how  the  life  which  souls  lived  there  comes  back ! 
Behold,  here  it  was  that  the  great  Christian  apostle 
came  "  with  demonstration  of  the  Spirit."  Men 
met  him  on  the  street  and  their  souls  stirred  in  their 
sleep.  He  spoke  a  few  words  of  his  Christ  and  their 
closed  doors  flew  open.  Here  men  and  women 
came  to  life.  Here  the  Christ  who  stood  in  the 
person  of  His  servant  was  "  received,"  and  to  the 
man  who  received  Him — some  poor  forgotten  dead 
Corinthian — gave  the  glorious  "  power  to  become 
the  Son  of  God." 

And  are  we  ready  now  to  take  the  next  step  ? 
Nay,  have  we  not  already  taken  it  ?  When  Paul 
declared  how  he  came  to  the  Corinthians,  he  was 
not  merely  telling  a  bit  of  his  biography,  he  was 
declaring  also  the  perpetual  and  universal  method 
of  the  Christian  faith.  As  he  came  into  Corinth  so 
the  Gospel  always  comes  to  men.  "  In  demonstra- 
tion of  the  Spirit,"  whatever  else  we  know  or  fail 
to  know  about  it,  we  must  know  this  first  truth  of 
the  character  of  the  demonstration  which  the  Gospel 
makes,  or  we  are  all  wrong.  Because  so  many  men 
have  not  known  this  they  have  been  all  wrong  when 
they  have  talked  about  the  Christian  faith  and  its 
acceptance  or  rejection  by  mankind.  "  In  demon- 
stration of  the  Spirit."  The  other  demonstrations 
have  their  place  and  their  relation  to  it.  The  dem- 
onstration of  argument  and  reason  has  its  work  to 
do  as  it  establishes  the  facts  of  Christian  history, 


I50  THE   DISPENSATION   OF  THE   SPIRIT. 

declares  the  character  of  the  great  Christian  Book, 
and  finds  the  relations  in  which  Christian  truth 
stands  to  all  the  truth  which  man  knows  everywhere. 
Authority  comes  in  and  testifies  to  the  acceptance 
of  those  truths  in  every  age.  But  when  the  work 
of  reason  and  authority  is  complete,  what  have  they 
done  ?  They  have  built  a  platform  down  which 
comes  a  moving  presence,  strong,  gracious,  imperi- 
ous with  love,  majestic  with  holiness — the  Christ 
coming  to  claim  the  soul.  He  can  come  over  the 
rudest  and  most  fragmentary  evidence,  over  the 
most  trembling  and  unobstructed  testimony.  Nay, 
He  can  come,  we  believe,  without  argument  and 
without  testimony,  manifesting  Himself  essentially 
even  to  souls  which  have  never  heard  His  name,  and 
which  can  offer  neither  description  nor  vindication 
of  His  power.  Even  so  He  can  come,  and,  as  a 
nameless  influence,  a  friend  felt  but  not  known,  can 
teach  and  help  and  save  the  soul.  But  He  must 
come.  The  best-built  platform  does  but  make  His 
coming  easier  and  more  complete.  It  cannot  make 
His  coming  needless. 

Because  this  has  not  been  made  and  kept  always 
clear  Christianity  has  suffered  in  every  way.  Let  us 
make  it  perfectly  clear  to  our  souls  if  we  can.  Your 
friend  approaches  you  with  all  the  proof  of  Chris- 
tianity entirely  complete.  There  is  not  left  a  single 
doubt.  You  are  perfectly  convinced.  Are  you  a 
Christian  ?  No!  You  believe  as  Jesus  terribly  said 
that  the  devils  do.  Another  friend  comes  to  you 
and  in  some  rich  way  opens  your  soul  to  Christ. 
With  multitudes  of  questions  about  Him  still  unan« 


THE   DISPENSATION   OF   THE   SPIRIT.  151 

swered,  with  a  strange  incapacity  to  sweep  a  defi- 
nition round  His  life,  Christ,  the  great  spiritual 
presence,  is  with  you  through  something  which  that 
friend  has  done.  Are  you  a  Christian?  Yes!  Be- 
yond all  doubt.  You  will  be  more  a  Christian  when 
through  the  opened  spiritual  nature  more  of  Christ 
comes  in  to  you.  But  you  are  a  Christian  now ! 
Nothing  can  make  you  more  a  Christian  except  what 
comes  in  through  your  spiritual  apprehension.  No 
amount  of  truth  believed  which  is  not  transmuted 
into  spiritual  life  and  power  enriches  your  Christian 
character.  The  soul,  the  soul  alone  it  is  which  is 
capable  of  Christian  life.  Whatever  does  not  reach 
the  soul  falls  short.  And  nothing  but  soul  can 
reach  the  soul.  Therefore  it  is  always,  as  it  was  in 
the  days  of  St.  Paul,  in  demonstration  of  the  Spirit 
that  the  Christ  must  come. 

There  are  two  representations  of  what  I  have  been 
saying — or,  perhaps,  it  Would  be  more  proper  to  call 
them  two  inferences  from  it — which  we  want  most 
distinctly  to  discern.  They  are  not  part  of  our  doc- 
trine. They  are  wholly  foreign  to  and  inconsistent 
with  it.  The  first  of  them  is  the  idea  that,  since 
the  birth  of  Christian  life  comes  only  by  the  meeting 
of  soul  with  soul,  therefore  everything  else,  all  the 
external  facts  of  Christianity,  are  insignificant  and 
unimportant ;  which  is  very  much  as  if  one  said  that 
since  the  railroad  tracks  never  yet  made  a  journey, 
therefore  they  were  of  no  use  and  the  engine  might 
go  its  way  and  reach  its  destination  as  well  without 
as  with  them.  The  facts  of  Christian  history  give 
their  direction   to   the  spiritual   power.      He  who 


152  THE   DISPENSATION   OF   THE   SPIRIT. 

knows  what  Christ  has  done  knows  what  Christ  is. 
And  he  who  knows  what  Christ  is,  is  ready  for 
Christ's  power  on  his  soul. 

The  other  idea  is  that  all  this  teaching  reduces  the 
whole  matter  of  Christian  evidence  to  the  soul's 
choice  and  whim.  If  nothing  can  be  received  as 
true  but  what  the  soul  accepts,  it  is  easy  to  go  on  and 
say  that  whatever  the  soul  accepts  may  be  received 
as  true,  and  then  to  add  still  further  that  the  only 
reason  for  accepting  any  religious  truth  as  true  is 
that  the  soul  desires  it.  "I  know  that  this  is  true 
because  I  want  it  to  be  true."  What  shall  we  say 
of  such  a  method.  Strangely  enough,  there  is  a 
certain  truth  in  it,  as  there  is  in  the  most  erroneous 
error.  It  always  has  been  recognized  that  what  the 
human  soul  deeply  and  permanently  and  universally 
desires  carries  in  the  very  fact  of  that  desire  a  cer- 
tain presumption  of  its  really  existing.  The  being 
of  God,  the  immutablity  of  the  soul — these  great 
beliefs  have  always  found  part  of  their  warrant  for 
their  truth  in  the  way  in  which  the  soul  of  man 
everywhere  has  claimed  a  Father,  and  the  human 
nature  has  refused  to  think  that  it  must  die  at  death. 
It  may  be  that  if  the  human  soul  could  be  certainly 
known  to  be  free  from  all  obscurity  and  prejudice, 
entirely  and  purely  itself,  and  if  its  testimony  were 
absolutely  unanimous  and  universal,  the  witness  it 
might  bear  would  be  enough  for  any  truth  to  rest 
upon.  But  now  it  can  set  forward  no  such  claim. 
We  do  not  hold  the  truths  of  our  faith  to  be  true 
because  we  want  them  to  be  true.  We  hold  them 
on  their  proper  and  sufficient  evidence.     But  they 


THE   DISPENSATION   OF  THE   SPIRIT.  1 53 

are  of  such  a  nature  that  we  could  not  hold  them 
upon  any  evidence  if  they  did  not  find  and  satisfy 
our  spiritual  natures.  That  is  a  difference  which 
any  thoughtful  man  can  surely  understand. 

We  talk  about  ourselves — we  talk  about  St.  Paul 
— but  who  are  we  or  who  is  he  that  in  any  one  less 
than  the  greatest  we  should  seek  and  find  the  type 
of  Christian  power?  How  was  it  in  Jesus  ?  Was  it 
not  absolutely  and  manifestly  true  that  in  Him  the 
power  of  God  was  not  an  argument  and  not  a  com- 
mandment, but  a  spiritual  force.  "  The  wind  blow- 
eth  where  it  listeth,  so  is  every  man  that  is  born  of 
the  Spirit."  Those  were  His  words  to  Nicodemus. 
Why  did  Peter  and  John  believe  Him  when  He 
stood  by  the  lakeside  in  the  clear  morning  and 
called  them  ?  Why  did  the  Magdalen  believe  Him 
when  He  bent  over  her  bowed  agony  and  pitied  her  ? 
Why  did  Lazarus  believe  Him  when  through  the 
grave  clothes  which  bound  the  poor  dead  face  the 
voice  came  piercing  with  the  summons  to  arise  ?  It 
was  because  He  was  a  force.  It  was  by  demonstra- 
tion of  the  Spirit. 

O  Peter,  Magdalen,  Lazarus,  that  force,  that 
divine  spiritual  force  is  in  the  world  to-day  !  The 
wind  still  blows  out  of  the  treasuries  of  God.  The 
Christ  still  touches  souls  which  will  be  touched  to 
life.  Only  (and  this  is  the  outcome  of  what  I  have 
been  saying  to  those  who  are  the  receivers  of  the 
influence  He  brings)  the  soul  must  be  confederate 
with  the  force,  or  even  the  divine  force  is  helpless. 
You  may  muffle  yourself  in  worldliness  and  yet 
understand  an  argument.     You  cannot  muffle  your- 


154  THE   DISPENSATION   OF   THE   SPIRIT. 

self  in  worldliness  and  yet  be  responsive  to  a  love. 
Oh,  it  is  terrible,  the  way  in  which  men  and  women 
stand  wrapped  in  their  selfishness  and  say,  "  Why 
does  not  Christ  soften  and  convert  me  ?  "  He  can- 
not, so  long  as  you  hide  yourself  in  your  selfishness. 
He  can  and  He  will  the  moment  that  you  tear  your- 
self open  and  want  Him,  and  want  what  He  wants. 
Then  to  you  who  receive  Him  He  gives  the  glorious 
power  to  become  the  child  of  God,  It  may  be  that 
that  is  being  done  here  now.  If  it  is,  this  is  indeed 
a  holy  place,  a  holy  hour. 

And  who  are  you  who  wish  and  pray  that  you 
might  be  the  medium  through  which  the  Christian 
life  may  come  to  some  one  who  is  needing  it,  per- 
haps needing  it  all  the  more  because  he  does  not 
know  his  need  ?  What  you  require  to  know  (and 
this  is  the  outcome  of  what  I  have  been  saying  to 
those  who  are  the  givers  of  the  influence  of  Christ) 
is  that  it  is  through  the  spiritual  life  that  your  influ- 
ence must  move.  How  great  a  strength  there 
comes  with  that  assurance!  You  say,  "  I  cannot 
argue  down  these  strong  objections;  I  am  not  wise 
enough  to  prove  that  I  am  right.  That  of  which  I 
am  spiritually  sure  I  cannot  argumentatively  sus- 
tain." What  then  ?  In  quietness  and  confidence 
must  be  your  strength.  If  you  cannot  argue,  live! 
Conviction  comes  through  argument,  but  life  comes 
through  life.  Fathers  and  mothers  with  your  chil- 
dren, students  among  your  fellow-students,  clerks 
in  the  great  store,  men  and  women  in  the  great 
world,  this  is  what  lies  open  to  you  all — the  demon- 
stration of  the  Spirit.     Be  true  and  pure  and  lofty 


THE  DISPENSATION  OF  THE  SPIRIT.  1 55 

and  devout,  and  He  who  ever  seeks  the  souls  of 
men  shall  find  His  way  to  some  of  them  through  you. 
Among  the  Christian  doctrines  the  one  which 
many  Christians  find  it  harder  to  give  an  account 
of  to  themselves  than  any  other  is  perhaps  the 
doctrine  of  the  Holy  Spirit.  They  hear  about  the 
dispensation  of  the  Holy  Spirit, — that  we  are  living 
in  it  now,  that  it  is  to  go  on,  growing  and  growing, 
until  it  shall  take  possession  of  all  life.  I  should  be 
glad  to  think  that  what  I  have  said  this  afternoon 
might  do  a  little  something  to  make  clearer  what 
the  dispensation  of  the  Holy  Spirit  is.  Can  you  pic- 
ture to  yourself  a  world  where  every  soul  should 
bear  direct  witness  of  itself  to  every  other,  the  great 
communication  being  that  which  the  soul  of  God 
bears  to  them  all, — their  own  communications  to 
each  other  being  indeed  only  the  reflections  of  His 
utterance,  as  the  colors  with  which  objects  shine  on 
each  other  are  but  expressions  of  the  light  with 
which  the  sun  shines  on  all.  Every  nature  is  spoken 
to  directly  by  the  perfect  nature,  and  every  nature 
spontaneously  and  naturally  tells  its  best  messages 
to  all  the  other  natures.  It  is  like  a  room  through 
whose  heated  atmosphere  fire  leaps  instantly  from 
fuel  to  fuel,  and  the  flame  springs  everywhere  at 
once.  In  such  a  world  two  things  are  true, — the 
will  of  God  is  felt  everywhere  as  the  moving  spirit 
of  it  all,  and  what  one  soul  possesses  of  strength 
and  truth  becomes  the  true  possession  of  the  whole 
— openness  and  sympathy !  In  such  a  world,  when 
it  is  complete,  there  is  no  jealous  hoarding  of  the 
good  which  any  nature  has ;  nor,  on  the  other  hand- 


156  THE  DISPENSATION  OF  THE  SPIRIT. 

is  there  a  frenzied  eagerness  and  restless  craving  to 
express,  as  if  expression  were  an  unnatural  thing; 
but  steadily,  certainly,  calmly,  each  soul  bears  wit- 
ness of  itself  by  its  very  being,  as  a  star  shines,  and 
in  the  demonstration  of  the  Spirit  the  power  of  good 
influence  distributes  and  reduplicates  itself  on  every 
side.     That  is  the  dispensation  of  the  Holy  Spirit. 

In  such  a  world  the  power  of  evil  influence  repeats 
itself  as  well  as  the  power  of  good.  The  baleful 
flame  leaps  through  the  heated  air  as  easily  as  does 
the  fire  of  God.  And  so  the  struggle  of  the  evil  and 
the  good  with  one  another  grows  more  tense  and 
terrible.  And  therefore  nearer  draws  the  day  when 
the  good,  because  it  is  divine,  shall  conquer  and  cast 
out  the  evil. 

Are  we  indeed  living  in  the  dispensation  of  the 
Holy  Spirit?  And  is  it  ripening  towards  the  full- 
ness of  its  power  ?  We  must  not  take  our  judgment 
from  a  few  short  years.  We  must  look  widely  over 
all  the  long  reach  of  Christendom ;  and  when  we  do 
look  so  I  do  not  see  how  we  can  help  discerning 
these  two  great  spiritual  qualities,  openness  and 
sympathy, — openness  to  receive  influences  from 
above  and  from  below,  and  sympathy  to  make  the 
wealth  of  one  the  wealth  of  all ; — discerning,  I  say, 
these  two  filling  all  Christian  history  as  they  have 
never  filled  the  history  of  heathen  times.  There  is 
a  great  community  of  life.  There  is  a  spirit  of  the 
time.  There  is  a  sense  of  mutual  responsibility, 
and  there  is  a  fierceness  of  conflict  between  spiritual 
forces,  which  makes  Christian  history  so  critical,  so 
splendid,  and  so  terrible. 


THE  DISPENSATION  OF  THE  SPIRIT.  1 57 

All  that  is  destined  to  increase  and  grow.     The 
dispensation  of  the  Spirit  is  to  deepen  as  the  years    i 
go   on.     The   demonstration    of    the    Spirit    is   to  / 
become    more     rich     and     universal.       The    strifp/ 
of  good  and  evil  is  to  become  more  furious.     The 
atmosphere  of  life  is  to  wax  more  intense.     What 
any  one  man  is  will  grow  more  and  more  critical  for 
other  men.     The  individual  and  the  race  will  tell 
more  and  more  immediately  and  powerfully  upon 
each  other.     And  into  this  opened  sympathetic  life 
God  will  pour  His  power  with  more  rich  profusion 
and  a  freer  and  freer  bestowal  of  Himself. 

In  such  a  world  it  is  a  privilege  to  live.  In  such 
a  world — let  this  be  the  closing  earnest  exhortation 
of  my  sermon — in  such  a  world  it  is  a  more  and 
more  dreadful  thing  to  be  a  trifler.  It  is  a  more 
and  more  blessed  thing  to  be  brave  and  sincere. 
O  my  brethren,  live  nobly  in  these  noble  times!  It 
matters  little  whether  your  field  of  activity  be  great 
or  small.  Only,  do  not  be  mean !  Do  not  be  cowards ! 
Do  not  be  false !  Love  God.  Serve  God.  Make 
your  life  such  that  He  can  shine  through  you.  There 
is  no  little.  There  is  no  great.  But  everywhere  there 
is  a  good,  there  is  a  bad.  God  save  us  from  the 
bad !  God  help  us  to  the  good,  and  give  us  all  the 
right  to  say  humbly  at  the  last  that  which  His  Son 
our  Saviour  said,  "  I  have  glorified  Thee  on  the 
earth!" 


X. 

THE    GLORY    OF    SIMPLICITY. 

"But  let  your  communication  be  'Yea,  yea;  'Nay,  nay':  for 
whatsoever  is  more  than  these  cometh  of  evil." — Matthew  v.  37. 

This  is  the  Quaker's  verse.  It  is  associated 
always  with  the  spirit  and  the  habits  of  that  inter- 
esting company  of  men  and  women  who  have 
devoted  themselves  to  the  cultivation  of  simplicity, 
and  have  enthroned  quietude  and  peace  as  the  gen- 
tle and  mighty  monarchs  of  their  life.  And  yet  it 
must  not  be  their  verse  alone.  No  grace  and  no 
condition  can  be  given  up  to  any  one  group  of  men 
as  if  it  belonged  to  them  exclusively.  No  doubt,  as 
Christendom  divides  itself  at  present,  it  is  true  that 
each  of  the  groups  or  sects  into  which  it  is  divided 
is  notable  for  the  preeminence  of  some  one  quality, 
or  ambition,  or  form  of  Christian  thought,  but  evi- 
dently it  holds  that  special  treasure  by  no  exclusive 
charter.  It  holds  it  in  trust  and  charge  for  all  the 
rest.  It  is  almost  as  if  each  of  these  groups  were 
a  peculiar  garden  into  which  each  new  plant  that 
was  to  be  acclimated  and  appropriated  into  the  great 
kingdom  of  the  Christian  life  were  brought  for 
special  cultivation.  There  it  is  made  much  of,  and 
surrounded    by   the  best  conditions,   and  guarded 

158 


THE   GLORY   OF   SIMPLICITY.  1 59 

from  the  dangers  which  most  easily  beset  it.  The 
walls  are  built  to  keep  away  the  winds  which  this 
plant  dreads.  The  streams  bring  it  the  water  which 
it  most  loves.  The  gardeners  of  that  special  garden 
studies  its  peculiar  character  and  habits.  In  every 
way  that  garden  devotes  itself  to  that  one  plant,  but  it 
is  not  because  the  plant  belongs  to  that  one  garden 
and  to  it  alone.  It  is  the  property  of  all  the  kingdom ; 
and  by  and  by,  when  the  nursery  has  done  its 
work  and  the  plant  is  thoroughly  naturalized  and 
acclimated,  it  is  sent  abroad  and  blooms  on  every  hill- 
side and  in  every  valley  through  the  land.  So  it  is 
when  a  particular  quality  or  a  particular  truth  is  com- 
mitted to  a  certain  church  or  to  a  certain  age  to  culti- 
vate. It  belongs  to  universal  life — to  all  the  churches 
and  to  all  the  ages.  It  is  but  trusted  to  this  special 
group  for  special  cultivation.  All  the  time  that  it  is 
being  specially  cultivated  there  it  is  flourishing  also 
as  it  may  in  all  the  larger  world ;  and  by  and  by  the 
special  cultivation  sends  it  out  into  the  larger  world 
to  be  the  property  and  portion  of  the  whole.  There- 
fore it  is  not  for  itself  alone,  but  for  all  Christendom 
and  all  mankind,  that  Quakerism  has  made  its  asser- 
tion and  cultivation  of  simplicity. 

I  want  to  speak  this  morning  about  the  glory  of 
simplicity.  All  life  continually  tends  to  complica- 
tion. It  is  so  with  the  individual  life  as  it  grows  up 
from  youth  to  manhood.  It  is  so  with  the  corpo- 
rate life  of  men  as  it  grows  more  and  more  highly 
civilized.  Where  is  the  man  who  does  not  look 
back  to  his  youth  and  think  how  few  were  the  things 
which  he  had  then  to  do,  how  uncomplicated  were 


l60  THE   GLORY   OF   SIMPLICITY. 

the  arrangements  which  he  had  then  to  make,  com- 
pared with  the  intricate  confusion  which  fills  his  life 
to-day  ?  And  where  is  the  community  which  does 
not  look  back  with  longing  to  the  primitive  stand- 
ards and  natural  habits  in  which  history  tells  it  that 
its  fathers  lived  only  a  few  short  centuries  ago  ? 
When  Jesus  came  into  Jerusalem  He  found  this  com- 
plication flourishing  abundantly  about  Him.  Elabo- 
rateness was  everywhere.  Great,  tedious  ceremonials 
occupied  the  temple  service.  Long  lists  of  rules  and 
arbitrary  laws  had  overspread  the  simplicity  of  the 
ten  commandments.  Society  was  a  most  intricate 
system  of  castes  and  classes.  Thought,  as  the 
Rabbis  guided  it,  turned  and  twisted  and  retwisted 
on  itself  in  endless  subtleties.  Every  hair  had  to  be 
split  and  split  again.  Every  definition  had  to  be 
defined  and  re-defined  a  thousand  times.  Now 
^  there  are  various  indications  in  the  Gospels  that  the 
Jews  wanted  Jesus  to  accept  this  system  of  things, 
and  to  come  in  among  them  and  join  in  their  hair- 
splitting, and  be  a  Rabbi  like  themselves.  But  the 
glory  of  His  conduct,  the  testimony  of  His  divinity, 
was  that  He  refused.  He  struck  this  whole  mass  of 
complication  and  elaboration  aside,  and  set  a  few 
big,  broad  simple  truths  and  laws  in  the  place 
which  they  had  occupied,  and  bade  them  reflect 
the  broad  sunshine  of  God ;  and  so  He  saved  the 
world. 

What  He  did  all  the  great  teachers  and  saviours 
of  the  world  have  done.  They  have  all  been  simpli- 
fiers.  The  second  order  of  the  world's  helpers  has 
been  largely  made  of  those  who  brought  in  some 


THE   GLORY   OF   SIMPLICITY.  l6l 

new  bit  of  helpfulness,  and  so  added  to  the  compli- 
cation of  which  the  world  is  full.  But  the  first  order 
of  helpful  men,  to  which  but  few  of  the  greatest  of 
mankind  belong,  has  been  made  up  of  those  who  so 
asserted  and  illuminated  and  glorified  and  made 
powerful  the  eternal,  elementary  truths  and  forces 
that  they  stood  out  sufficient  and  alone,  and  burnt 
up,  as  it  were,  all  the  half-lights  and  pale  reflections 
of  themselves  of  which  the  sky  had  become  full. 

How  passionate  sometimes  in  the  midst  of  the 
most  beautiful  and  interesting  of  complicated  life 
becomes  this  craving  for  simplicity !  What  strange 
forms  of  exhibition  it  assumes!  The  youth  leaves 
impatiently  the  gilded  and  cushioned  luxury  where 
he  was  born  and  bred,  and  is  found  by  and  by  in 
the  depths  of  the  prairies  herding  his  cattle  like  a 
true  son  of  Adam.  -  The  man  of  many  learnings 
casts  his  many  books  away  and  goes  to  some  man- 
ual toil  which  seems  to  bring  him  back  to  the  hard 
primitive  things  by  whose  touch  he  reclaims  the 
earth  and  identifies  himself  as  man.  The  king  dis- 
appears from  the  throne,  and  his  voice  is  heard 
chanting  in  the  cloister.  The  woman  turns  from 
the  complicated  whirl  of  society  and  becomes  the 
sister  of  charity  The  connoisseur  sweeps  all  the 
accumulated  bric-k-brac  of  a  lifetime  away  and  sits 
down  to  ponder  on  one  single  statue  or  to  fathom 
the  secret  of  a  single  picture,  or  takes  refuge  in  the 
loveliness  of  nature  which  lies  behind  all  the  pictures. 
Everywhere  this  craving  for  simplicity  is  at  the  bot- 
tom of  all  complication.  The  barbarian  is  at  the 
heart  of  every  son  of  civilization.     The  fresh  morn- 


l62  THE   GLORY   OF   SIMPLICITY. 

ing  is  within  the  hot  bosom  of  every  noon,  filling  it 
with  dim  aspirations  and  regrets  and  hopes. 

But  all  is  not  said  when  we  say  this.  Still,  sing 
the  praises  of  simplicity  as  loudly  as  we  will,  the 
question  comes  most  urgently  *'  What  kind  of  sim- 
plicity is  possible  for  a  man  or  for  a  race  which  has 
once  left  the  primary  simplicity  behind  and  devel- 
oped into  the  elaborate  conditions  of  ripened  life  ?  " 
It  cannot  be  the  old  simplicity  back  again  just  as  it 
used  to  be.  The  full-blown  rose  can  never  fold 
itself  into  a  bud  again.  The  world  is  never  going 
to  tear  down  its  cities,  and  dress  itself  once  more  in 
bearskins,  and  take  to  the  wigwams  and  the  woods 
again.  And  if  a  man  or  two  leaves  the  study  for  the 
workshop  or  the  palace  for  the  monastery,  we  are 
almost  sure  that  they  find  they  have  carried  within 
them  the  complication  away  from  which  they  ran ; 
and  that  while  their  hands  are  busy  at  the  primary 
toils  of  man,  their  hearts  are  tossed  and  crossed  with 
the  old  problems  and  contradictions  which  they 
brought  with  them  out  of  the  heart  of  their  puzzled 
books  or  of  the  tumultuous  world.  No,  it  is  not  by 
any  mere  reversion  to  a  long-past  childhood  that  the 
man's  life  or  the  world's  life  is  to  be  simplified  again. 
That  is  all  past  and  over.  It  never  can  return.  And 
by  the  same  token  it  cannot  be  by  mere  excision  and 
exclusion  till,  interest  after  interest  being  lopped 
away,  only  one  or  two  interests  are  left.  That  will 
not  do.  You  do  not  truly  make  life  simple  by  mak~ 
ing  it  meagre.  It  is  as  if  you  tried  to  simplify  a  tree 
by  cutting  off  its  branches.  You  either  kill  the  tree 
and  it  is  a  tree  no  longer,  or  else,  if  it  still  lives,  it 


THE   GLORY   OF   SIMPLICITY.  163 

instantly  puts  forth  new  branches  and  the  old  com- 
plication is  there  again  before  you  know.  Not  so ! 
Not  so !  It  is  not  by  excision  and  rejection  that  the 
simplicity  of  life  is  gained.  The  unity  which  comes 
by  meagreness  is  far  too  dearly  bought  and  is  not 
really  unity. 

And  how,  then,  can  it  come  ?  Is  not  its  method 
felt  in  those  deep  words  of  Jesus,  "  Seek  ye  first  the 
kingdom  of  God  and  His  righteousness,  and  all 
these  things  shall  be  added  unto  you  ?  "  Seek  ye 
the  centre  and  ye  shall  possess  the  sphere. 

There  is  a  great  principle,  a  great  truth,  large 
enough,  elementary,  absolute,  universal  enough  to 
enclose  and  enfold  all  the  fragmentariness  of  living 
and  make  life  one.  "  The  kingdom  of  God  and  His 
righteousness,"  so  Jesus  calls  it.  It  is  the  fact  of 
the  power  and  the  goodness  of  God,  the  fact  that 
the  good  God  is  king,  which  is  able  thus  to  embrace 
all  life  and  make  it  one.  Take  a  king  out  of  a  king- 
dom and  it  falls  to  pieces.  He  is  at  once  its  centre 
and  its  envelope.  By  his  force  within  it  and  his 
pressure  round  it  he  holds  it  into  unity ;  and  all  its 
parts  within  it  freely  play  without  disturbing  its 
simplicity. 

What  is  the  meaning  of  this  religiously  to  us  ?  If 
we  believe  in  God,  if  God  is  a  reality  to  us,  our  life 
is  not  distracted  whatever  be  the  multiplicity  of  its 
details.  You  are  a  score  of  things,  and  life  seems 
to  be  pulled  a  score  of  ways  by  the  conflicting  claims 
of  the  score  of  things  you  are.  Your  family  pulls 
you  one  way  and  your  business  another,  and  your 
ambition  another,  and  by  and  by  one  fragment  of 


1 64  THE   GLORY  OF  SIMPLICITY. 

you  is  working  here  and  another  there;  and  your 
self,  that  core  and  heart  of  you  which  cannot  be  torn 
apart  by  any  distraction,  is  flying  and  rushing  here 
and  there,  and  trying  to  regulate  and  rule  these 
tumultuous  kingdoms,  and  failing  always.  What 
then  ?  Can  you  believe  in  God  ?  Do  you  know 
that  He  loves  you  ?  Do  you  know  that  you  are 
His  ?  If  you  do,  the  moment  that  you  do,  it  is  as 
if  a  great  hand  was  put  underneath  and  around  all 
this  complexity  and  distraction,  and — without  any 
.true  part  of  your  life  being  crowded  out,  all  being 
kept  complete — the  whole  was  gently,  strongly 
pressed  into  a  whole,  a  unit.  One  motive  fills  all 
these  parts  of  life,  and  they  become  harmonious. 
One  love  pervades  them  and  they  love  each  other. 
The  simplicity  of  a  system  asserts  itself — a  simplicity 
like  the  God's  from  whom  it  comes — so  that  as  we 
declare  of  Him,  in  the  same  way  the  harmonized 
parts  of  us  declare  of  us,  "  In  Him  we  live  and  move 
and  have  our  being."  Each  man  is  a  true  universe, 
a  cosmos,  an  order  all  the  more  simple  for  its  com- 
plexity of  parts. 

Do  you  know  what  this  means  ?  Indeed  you 
must  know,  or  else  you  have  got  to  do  one  or  other 
of  two  things.  Either  you  have  got  to  strip  piece 
after  piece,  interest  after  interest,  of  your  life  away 
until  you  attain  the  meagre  simplicity  of  the  unor- 
ganized atom ;  or  else  you  have  got  to  give  up  the 
hope  and  thought  of  all  simplicity,  and  just  lie  loose 
and  dejected — a  score  of  pieces  of  a  man,  each  run- 
ning independently  and  spasmodically,  but  not  one 
man  at  all.     You  cannot  do  either  of  these  things, 


THE   GLORY   OF  SIMPLICITY.  165 

and  so  you  must  come  to  the  simplicity  of  the  child 
of  God. 

Thus  I  have  tried  to  describe  the  only  method  of 
simplicity  which  lies  open  to  the  life  of  the  busy  and 
thoughtful  man,  the  man  who  cannot  starve  his  life 
into  meagreness,  and  at  the  same  time  cannot  be 
satisfied  with  mere  multitudinousness  of  life  which 
has  no  principle  of  unity. 

And  now  let  us  see  how  such  a  simplicity  as  that, 
when  it  has  entered  into  a  man's  life,  satisfies  and 
fills  and  rules  it.  Here  is  a  growing  and  expanding 
nature.  It  is  always  reaching  forward,  always  desir- 
ing to  be  more  and  to  do  more  to-morrow  than  to- 
day. Now  the  question  of  that  nature's  activity 
will  practically  be  this :  whether  it  shall  expand  itself 
by  leaving  the  old  and  going  abroad  to  find  new 
things  for  its  possession,  or  by  more  and  more  com- 
plete possession  of  the  things  it  has.  The  first  is 
the  method  of  ever-increasing  complication.  The 
second  is  the  method  of  perpetual  simplicity.  The 
first  is  full  of  restlessness,  the  second  is  all  calm. 

Do  we  not  know  the  difference  ?  How  many  of 
our  lives  are  feverish  with  the  perpetual  search  after 
new  things  when  the  things  which  we  have  now  have 
not  begun  to  be  exhausted.  We  are  like  children 
with  our  houses  strewn  with  half-read  books  and 
half-played  games  and  half-eaten  fruit ;  who  stand 
at  the  doorway  crying  out  into  the  open  world  for 
more  instead  of  giving  ourselves  to  the  richer  uses  of 
what  we  have  already. 

The  reason  of  such  a  state  of  things  must  be  either 
that  what  we  already  have  is  not  large  enough  and 


-/ 


l66  THE   GLORY   OF   SIMPLICITY. 

rich  enough,  or  that  its  largeness  and  richness  have 
not  been  enough  apprehended  by  us.  We  have  not 
found  our  simplicity  in  God.  If  we  had  we  should 
never  dream  of  exhaustion. 

The  clear  illustration  of  this  I  find  in  the  New 
Testament.  Christ  comes  and  preaches,  the  new 
teacher,  the  great  revealer  of  the  truth  of  God  to 
man.  I  think  that  all  men  have  been  surprised 
sometimes  at  what  seemed  the  simplicity,  almost 
the  meagreness,  of  the  teachings  of  Jesus.  There 
are  such  multitudes  of  questions  for  which  every 
philosopher  has  had  his  answer,  but  which  Christ 
never  touches.  There  are  such  wide  regions  of 
curious  speculation  where  all  our  feet  insist  on 
wandering,  but  which  He  never  enters.  Think  of 
what  we  should  have  expected.  "  He  is  coming 
to  us  direct  from  God.  Now  we  shall  know  every- 
thing. He  will  tell  us  everything. "  But,  on  the  con- 
trary, how  was  it  ?  How  calmly  the  old  truths  fell 
from  His  lips!  What  richness  and  novelty  opened 
in  them  as  He  spoke  them !  How,  to  those  who 
heard  with  ears  worthy  of  the  lips  with  which  He 
spoke,  the  old  truths — the  truths  of  God  and  the 
soul  and  immortality — became  enough,  so  deep  they 
grew  as  He  proclaimed  them  !  What  need  was  there 
for  Him  to  go  afield  for  far-fetched  truths,  when  right 
here  at  His  feet  the  old  world  was  so  rich  ?  It  is 
His  simple  "  Yea,  yea,"  spoken  of  the  eternal  veri- 
ties which  the  world  has  always  seemed  to  know, 
that  has  flooded  the  world  with  new  light  and  salva- 
tion. 

Wonderful  is  he  who  takes  us  by  the  hand  and 


THE   GLORY    OF   SIMPLICITY.  1 6/ 

leads  us  into  regions  of  whose  very  existence  we  had 
not  known  before.  This  wonderfulness  there  is  cer- 
tainly in  Jesus.  More  wonderful  still  is  He  who  on 
the  old  ground  where  we  stand  bids  the  mine  open 
and  the  diamond  shine,  bids  the  fountain  burst  and 
the  waters  flow;  and  it  is  this  wonderfulness  that 
makes  Jesus  truly  and  entirely  the  Saviour  of  the 
world. 

Again,  think  how  men  use  their  Bibles.  There 
are  so  many  of  the  Bible  students  who  are  forever 
finding  obscure,  difficult,  out-of-the-way  passages, 
and  treating  them  as  if  they  had  the  marrow  and 
substance  of  the  Gospel  in  them.  Some  mystic 
verse  in  St.  John's  revelation,  some  occult  compu- 
tation from  the  prophecy  of  Daniel,  has  often  so 
taken  possession  of  a  man  or  of  a  sect  that  all  the 
great  remainder  of  the  Bible  seemed  to  fade  back 
into  insignificance.  It  was  as  if  these  readers  had 
exhausted  all  that  the  great,  simple,  healthy  Gos- 
pels had  to  say,  and  had  nothing  left  to  listen  to 
except  this  enigmatical  and  dubious  voice  speaking 
out  of  the  darkness  in  a  language  which  no  man 
could  understand.  Very  often  it  has  seemed  as  if 
"  knowledge  of  the  Bible  "  consisted  in  the  posses- 
sion of  theories  regarding  such  comet-like  texts 
which  shoot  across  the  sky  of  Revelation,  rather 
than  devout  intimacy  with  the  majestic  simplicity 
of  the  revelation  of  God  and  the  revelation  of  man, 
which  are  the  tranquil  stars  that  burn  always  and 
lighten  all  the  heavens. 

Indeed,  one  of  the  strange  things  in  the  whole 
history  of  Christianity  has  been  the  way  in  which 


l68  THE  GLORY  OF  SIMPLICITY. 

many  souls  have  seemed  not  merely  to  miss  but  to 
prefer  to  miss  its  great  simplicity.  What  an  amount 
of  reverent  and  devoted  study  has  been  given  to 
strange  doctrines,  such  as  the  doctrine  of  the  historic 
fall  of  man,  or  the  doctrine  of  the  second  advent  of 
the  Saviour,  or  the  doctrine  of  the  correspondence 
of  the  types  of  the  Old  Testament  with  the  events 
of  the  New,  or  the  doctrine  of  the  imputed  right- 
eousness of  Christ.  Men's  minds  have  hovered 
around  them  with  a  strange,  unhealthy  fascination. 
Theories  have  risen  from  them  like  mists  out  of  dim 
fields,  often  very  beautiful,  as  beautiful  as  they 
were  thin  and  unsubstantial ;  while  all  the  time  the 
great  solid  truths,  of  man's  divine  lineage  and  God's 
much-manifested  love  and  Christ's  redemption  of 
the  soul  by  sacrifice  have  lain,  not  denied,  but  un- 
opened, unsounded  for  the  depths  of  unfound  rich- 
ness that  is  in  them.  I  am  sure  that  much  of  the 
character  of  a  Christian's  faith  may  be  tested  by  its 
simplicity,  by  whether  he  finds  abundant  richness 
in  the  great,  primary  fundamental  truths  or  whether 
his  mind  wanders  among  fantastic  doctrines,  and 
values  ideas  not  for  their  naturalness  but  for  their 
strangeness;  not  for  the  way  in  which  they  satisfy 
and  feed,  but  for  the  way  in  which  they  startle  and 
surprise  the  human  soul. 

There  is  no  region  in  which  all  this  is  more  true 
than  in  men's  speculation  about  the  life  which  lies 
beyond  the  grave.  Nowhere  does  the  difference 
between  the  healthiness  of  simplicity  and  the  un- 
healthiness  of  complicated  and  elaborate  curiosity 
so  visibly  appear.     People  who  hardly  believe  that 


THE   GLORY  OF  SIMPLICITY.  169 

there  is  such  a  thing  as  a  future  life  at  all  will  specu- 
late on  its  details,  will  sit  holding  their  breath  while 
mediums  who  have  no  touch  of  common  sympathy 
try  to  bring  souls  together  in  carnal  manifestation, 
whose  intimacy  is  too  sacred  for  any  but  themselves 
to  share.  It  is  not  this  that  brings  comfort  and 
peace.  It  is  not  this  that  lifts  the  souls  on  earth  to 
live  already  the  divine  life  which  their  kindred  souls 
are  living  in  the  celestial  world.  No  morbid  dream 
of  knowledge  which  is  not  for  me,  no  fancied  sight 
into  the  detailed  occupations  of  the  spiritual  life — 
only  the  great,  broad,  simple  certainty  that  the 
friend  I  love  is  in  the  perfect  company  and  care,  is 
held  fast  in  the  tender  and  majestic  love  of  God — 
only  this  I  want  to  satisfy  my  soul.  The  Bible  tells 
us  one  thing — only  one — about  the  dead  who  have 
passed  out  of  our  sight.  They  are  with  God.  How 
simple  that  is!  How  sufficient  it  becomes!  How 
cheap  and  tawdry,  as  we  dwell  in  it,  it  makes  the 
guesses  and  conceits  with  which  men  try  to  make 
real  to  themselves  what  the  dead  are  doing!  They 
are  with  God.  Their  occupations  are  ineffable.  No 
tongue  can  tell  their  new,  untasted  joy.  The  scen- 
ery in  the  midst  of  which  they  Hve  speaks  to  the 
spirit  with  voices  which  no  words  born  of  the  senses 
can  describe.  But  the  companionship  and  care, — 
those  are  the  precious,  those  are  the  intelligible 
things.  The  dead  are  with  God.  O  you  who  miss 
even  to-day  the  sound  of  the  familiar  voices,  the 
sight  of  the  dear,  familiar  faces,  believe  and  be  more 
than  satisfied  with  that. 

There  is  no  sign  of  ripening  life  which  is  more 


I70  THE   GLORY   OF   SIMPLICITY. 

gracious  and  more  beautiful  than  the  capacity  and  dis- 
position to  find  richness  in  the  simplest  and  healthiest 
associations.  Have  you  never  had  an  experience  like 
this  ?  Have  you  never  had  a  friend  whom  you  have 
long  known,  in  whom  you  found  much  to  enjoy  and 
to  be  grateful  for,  but  whom  at  last  you  seemed 
to  have  exhausted  and  outgrown  ?  You  went  abroad 
to  natures  which  fascinated  you  more.  You  felt 
the  power  of  some  man  in  whom  there  was  some 
sort  of  one-sided  and  fantastic  power,  in  whom 
there  was  more  violence  of  light  and  shade,  in 
whom  the  very  manifestness  of  defect  made  certain 
promontories  of  possession  peculiarly  picturesque 
and  attractive.  You  revelled  in  his  strange  un- 
healthy power.  Something,  it  may  be,  almost 
weird  came  out  in  yourself  to  answer  his  romantic 
inspiration.  But  by  and  by  he  too  failed  you  and 
did  not  satisfy.  Some  morning  that  which  had 
been  so  dramatic  looked  only  theatrical  to  you. 
His  high  lights  and  great  gulfs  of  darkness  wearied 
you.  And  then  have  you  never  turned  back  to  the 
simplicity  of  your  first  friendship,  and  found  to  your 
amazement  how  unexhausted,  how  inexhaustible  it 
was  ?  There  stood  the  deep,  quiet  nature  on  whose 
surface  you  had  scratched  and  fumbled,  but  where 
profoundness  lay  yet  all  untouched.  His  healthi- 
ness refreshed  you  as  if  you  came  out  of  a  torch- 
lighted  cavern  into  the  sunlight  and  the  breeze. 
His  calm  "  Yea,  yea  ;  nay,  nay,"  truthful  and 
strong,  swept  all  the  frantic  extravagances  and  over- 
strained exaggerations  out  of  your  soul,  and  you  re- 
joiced in  a  great  cleanness  and  freshness.     Giving 


THE   GLORY   OF   SIMPLICITY.  171 

yourself  to  him  again  you  found  him  opening  to 
you  treasures  which  you  never  found  before, — as 
men  come  back  with  the  tools  of  civiHzation  in  their 
hands,  and  work  great  wealth  of  gold  out  of  the 
mines  which  their  barbarian  ancestors  thought  they 
had  exhausted  ages  ago. 

Sometimes  the  truth  about  God  and  His  relation 
to  our  human  life  seems  to  shape  itself  exactly  into 
this,  that  He  stands  waiting,  in  infinite  patience,  till 
His  children  out  of  their  restlessness  and  wanderings 
come  back  to  find  the  satisfaction  of  their  souls  in 
Him.  We  just  touch  Him  in  our  childhood;  our 
first  implicit  faith  gets  just  the  surface  blessings  of 
His  love,  as  the  childish  savages  gather  the  grains  of 
gold  which  lie  shining  on  the  surface  of  the  ground. 
Then  we  go  off,  fascinated  by  some  eccentric,  tumul- 
tuous utterance  of  power,  and  we  give  ourselves  up 
to  some  passion  for  the  distorted  or  unreal.  We 
make  long  journeys  in  search  of  bags  of  gold  which 
spirits  tells  us  that  the  genii  have  hidden  in  the  holes 
of  rocks  across  the  seas ;  and  all  the  while  there  lies 
the  mine  with  its  good,  hidden  gold.  All  the  while 
there  waits  God  with  His  great  satisfaction  for  the 
soul  of  man ;  and  some  day  we  come  to  ourself  and 
say  "  I  will  arise  and  go  to  my  Father."  Some  day 
the  false  lights  fade,  the  partial  shows  its  partial- 
ness.  Out  of  the  depth  of  the  earth  where  the 
gold  is  hidden  the  call  sounds,  "  Come  unto  me." 
Out  of  the  healthiness  of  the  divine  life  our  hearts 
recognize  the  summons  as  we  come  back  to  the  God 
we  thought  we  had  exhausted,  forsooth,  when  we 
left  Him  in  our  nursery,  and  find  in  humiliation  and 


\y 


172  THE  GLORY  OF  SIMPLICITY. 

in  joy  that  He  is  the  strength  of  our  life  and  "  our 
portion  forever,"  that  which  eternity  itself  cannot 
exhaust. 

God  is  so  healthy.  That  is  indeed  the  meaning 
of  His  holiness.  In  Him  no  part  or  quahty  grows 
tyrannical  over  the  rest.  In  His  timeless  existence 
the  present  cannot  be  sacrificed  to  the  future,  nor 
the  future  to  the  present.  The  eternal  necessities 
are  in  Him,  so  that  He  does  not  submit  His  will  to 
them;  they  are  His  will.  His  Yea  and  Nay  are  the 
creations  and  distinctions  of  the  world.  When  He 
says  to  your  disturbed,  distracted,  restless  soul,  or 
mine,  "  Come  unto  me,"  He  is  saying,  come  out  of 
the  strife  and  doubt  and  struggle  of  what  is  at  the 
moment  where  you  stand,  into  that  which  was  and 
is  and  is  to  be, — the  eternal,  the  essential,  the  abso- 
lute. Let  go  the  fascination  of  the  unhealthy  and 
the  exceptional,  come  to  the  everlasting  health,  the 
great  natural  and  normal  life  which  lies  under  the 
fretfulness  of  living  as  the  great  sea  underlies  the 
fretful  waves, — "  Come  unto  me." 

Even  in  regions  which  we  do  not  call  religious,  we 
recognize  this  power  of  the  absolute  and  simple  to 
call  souls  to  itself ;  and  we  see  how  the  truest  souls 
are  they  who  answer  to  the  call,  and  how  the  souls 
which  answer  to  the  call  become  the  truest.  The 
healthiness  and  simplicity  of  the  highest  genius  is 
remarkable.  Genius  of  the  second  rank  may  be  fan- 
tastical, complicated,  living  in  regions  of  its  own, 
lighted  by  fitful  stars  of  morbid  fascinating  brilliance ; 
but  genius  of  the  first  order,  the  few  very  highest 
souls — Shakespeare,  Plato,  and  Homer — live  in  the 


THE  GLORY   OF  SIMPLICITY.  1 73 

universal  light  and  air.  They  speak  intelligently  to 
their  fellow-men.  They  shine  with  a  true,  colorless 
light.  They  move  upon  the  world  like  the  true  air 
of  heaven.  Their  "  yea  "  and  "  nay"  are  inex- 
haustible because  they  are  the  essential  affirmations 
and  denials  of  the  universe;  they  are  the  positives 
and  negatives  of  the  eternal  truth.  Therefore  it  is 
that  we  come  back  to  them  for  peace  and  highest 
inspiration  out  of  the  turmoil  of  excited  literature 
which  eddies  and  foams  about  us,  and  tosses  us  to 
distraction.  Therefore  it  is  that  men  of  their  qual- 
ity, however  small  they  may  be,  have  always  life- 
giving  and  peace-giving  power;  and  men  turn  back 
to  the  man  who  is  simple,  broad,  healthy,  and  true, 
as  the  sailor  who  has  rejoiced  in  the  contortions  and 
distractions  of  the  sea,  turns,  when  the  twilight 
comes,  to  the  peace  of  the  deep-rooted  shore  and 
the  rest  of  the  meadows  where  the  flowers  grow  out 
of  the  unmeasured  depth  of  fruitful  earth. 

Thus  we  talk  of  the  simplicity  of  God,  thus  we 
talk  of  the  simplicity  of  the  profoundest  and  truest 
men.  It  is  the  exhibition  of  both  of  these  sim- 
plicities which  we  behold  in  Jesus,  and  which  makes 
His  healthiness,  His  holiness.  One  of  the  noblest 
signs  of  how  true  our  human  nature  is  at  the 
bottom  is  the  way  in  which,  notwithstanding  all 
the  fascination  which  the  unhealthy  forms  of  power 
have  had  for  men,  the  strongest  hold  that  ever 
has  been  laid  upon  the  human  heart  has  been  laid 
there  by  the  simple,  healthy  Christ.  It  is  not  His 
miracles,  it  is  His  nature  which  holds  the  world  and 
will  not  let  it  go.     Men  are  shouting  and  scream- 


174  THE   GLORY   OF   SIMPLICITY. 

ing  all  about  Him  with  their  partial  truths,  their 
temporary  standards,  their  intoxicated  joys,  their 
frantic  and  galvanic  shows  of  power.  You  are  won- 
dering to  which  fanaticism  you  shall  give  up  your 
life,  which  form  of  unhealthy  thought  or  action  you 
shall  make  your  own,  since  it  seems  as  if  only  in  un- 
healthiness  was  power  or  joy  to  be  attained ;  and 
just  then,  when  you  are  all  ready  to  throw  yourself 
into  the  fire  of  some  frenzy,  Jesus  steps  before  you 
and  says,  "  Give  yourself  to  Me  "  ;  and  then,  look- 
ing into  His  face,  you  see  that  there  is  your  true 
master.  For  look,  what  it  will  be  to  serve  Him. 
He  never  will  ask  you  to  distort  a  truth  even  for 
the  very  highest  purpose.  He  never  will  ask  you 
to  do  wrong  to-day  that  you  or  other  men  may  do 
right  to-morrow.  He  not  merely  will  not  tempt 
you.  He  will  not  allow  you  to  bring  the  high  stand- 
ards of  living  down  to  what  seem  the  powers  of  your 
life.  He  will  bid  you  trust  your  fellow-men  and  not 
suspect  them ;  assuring  you  that  it  is  better  to  be 
cheated  a  hundred  times  and  to  be  imposed  upon 
continually  than  to  fail  to  help  one  soul  which  you 
might  help,  or  to  shut  the  door  of  the  better  life  in 
the  face  of  any  child  of  God  who  is  trying  to  come 
in.  Above  all,  He  will  open  to  you  the  great  simple 
sources  of  truth  and  power,  and  make  them  the  ex- 
haustless  feeders  of  your  soul.  These  things  He 
has  done  wherever  souls  have  got  genuinely  and 
thoroughly  at  Him.  Sometimes  His  church  has 
not  done  these  things  for  men.  Sometimes  she  has 
done  just  the  opposite  of  these  things.  But  wher- 
ever His  church  has  really  brought  Him  and  men 


THE  GLORY  OF   SIMPLICITY.  175 

together,  and  wherever  He  and  men  have  ever  really 
met,  this  has  been  always  the  result.  He  has  done 
for  them  all  these  things,  and  the  great  outcome  of 
it  all  has  been  that  their  lives  have  grown  healthy 
and  grown  natural.  The  fantastic  has  been  cast  out. 
They  have  felt  and  known  themselves  in  as  true 
relations  to  the  earth  they  lived  on  as  its  mountains 
or  its  trees.  And  so  peace  has  come  to  them,  and 
with  peace,  power. 

My  friends,  the  world  we  live  in,  the  time  and 
town  we  live  in,  are  full  of  unhealthiness.  There 
are  exaggerations,  affectations,  complications,  thin 
frenzies,  theatrical  excitement,  fashions  of  passions, 
conventionalities  of  unconventionalities,  till  our 
souls  grow  sick  and  tired  of  it  all.  Where  is  the 
escape  from  it  ?  Only  in  what  St.  Paul  calls  "  The 
simplicity  which  is  in  Christ."  Go  up  into  the 
mountain  of  His  love  and  service,  and  you  shall 
leave  all  these  mists  and  fogs  below.  Drink  of  the 
water  that  He  shall  give  you,  and  "  it  shall  be  in  you 
a  fountain  of  living  water,  springing  up  to  everlast- 
ing life."  That  is  the  true  health  of  the  soul.  May 
we  all  come  to  it  by  Him ! 


'^^V.'^.V        yf 


•-X    • 


XI. 

THE  LITTLE  SANCTUARIES  OF  LIFE. 

"  Thus  saith  the  Lord,  Though  I  have  cast  them  far  away  among 
the  heathen,  and  although  I  have  scattered  them  among  the  coun- 
tries, yet  will  I  be  to  them  a  little  sanctuary  in  the  countries  w^here 
they  shall  come." — Ezekiel  xi.  16. 

The  prophet  stood,  as  it  were,  upon  the  heights 
of  Hebrew  history  and  pointed  to  the  disastrous 
exile.  Yet  into  the  cloud  of  the  exile  he  sent  the 
sunbeam  of  a  promise.  We  may  try  to  realize  and 
understand  that  promise,  not  as  it  issued  from  the 
prophet's  lips,  but  as  the  exiled  Jew  laid  claim  to  it 
in  his  necessity  and  distress  in  Babylon.  The  child 
of  Israel  has  left  Jerusalem  behind.  He  has  travelled 
far  away  from  the  holy  city.  As  he  took  his  depart- 
ure he  paused  and  lingered  on  the  Mount  of  Olives, 
and  looked  back  on  the  great  temple  which  he  was 
to  see  no  more.  There  it  stood  in  all  its  sacred 
splendor.  It  was  the  holiest  spot  of  all  the  earth  to 
him.  It  was  the  seat  of  his  Jehovah's  presence. 
By  rite  and  symbol,  by  decoration  and  image,  the 
sign  was  given  everywhere  in  it  that  God  was  there. 
We  see  the  exile  as  he  gazes  with  strained  eyes  and 
breaking  heart,  and  then  turns  wearily  away,  and 
day  after  day,  week  after  week,  plods  eastward  across 

176 


THE  LITTLE  SANCTUARIES  OF  LIFE.  1 77 

the  desert.  Every  heavy  step  takes  him  farther 
from  the  shining  sanctuary.  And  at  last  the  sum 
of  all  his  heavy  steps  brings  him  to  Babylon.  He 
enters  into  the  heathen  city  and  his  whole  heart 
sinks,  for  there  is  no  sanctuary  of  Jehovah  here. 
There  are  fantastic  temples  which  bewilder  him. 
He  hears  strange  hymns  upon  the  foreign  air.  He 
sees  faces  kindling  with  ideas  which  he  cannot  under- 
stand. Gods  with  mysterious  names  bewilder  him, 
but  no  one  knows  his  God.  His  soul  sinks  within 
him.  Has  he  then  been  carried  into  a  region  where 
Jehovah's  power  does  not  reach  ?  Has  he  left  his 
God  behind  him  as  he  has  lost  sight  of  the  great 
sanctuary  on  the  sacred  hill.  And  then  comes  to 
him  Ezekiel's  promise:  "  Thus  saith  the  Lord,  I 
will  be  to  them  a  little  sanctuary  in  the  countries 
where  they  shall  come."  Before  he  has  compre- 
hended its  exact  meaning,  he  has  caught  its  spirit. 
It  brings  him  comfort.  It  makes  the  air  less  for- 
eign. He  is  not  totally  in  exile.  And  so  he  gath- 
ers courage  in  his  heart. 

As  we  stand  off  and  look  at  the  exile  and  his 
acceptance  of  God's  promise,  two  facts  are  very  dis- 
tinct, and  they  must  go  together.  One  of  them  is 
the  centralness  and  undisturbed  supremacy  of  Jeru- 
salem. It  still  remains  the  great  sanctuary.  This 
which  is  given  in  Babylon,  whatever  it  may  be,  is 
the  "  little  sanctuary."  The  sacredness  which  the 
Jew  had  always  felt  in  the  city  of  his  fathers  is  not 
abolished.  It  is  not  declared  that  places  are  indiffer- 
ent, and  that  this  Babylon  is  just  as  truly  the  seat 
of  the  life  of  God  as  is  the  town  of  David.     Sacred- 


178  THE  LITTLE  SANCTUARIES   OF  LIFE. 

ness  is  not  spread  in  simple  indiscriminateness  over 
the  earth.  And  yet — this  is  the  second  fact — it  is 
declared  that  God's  presence  cannot  be  confined  in 
one  small  place.  The  sacredness  is  too  mysterious, 
too  subtle,  too  personal,  to  be  shut  up.  It  must 
go  forth  wherever  those  who  needed  it  and  could 
receive  it  went.  However  it  might  hold  fast  to  its 
fountain,  it  must  flow  abroad,  the  same  water  of 
refreshment,  and  make  itself  reservoirs  wherever 
there  were  thirsty  lips. 

These  were  the  two  truths — the  unchanged  sep- 
arateness  and  centralness  of  the  sacred  city,  and  also 
the  power  of  extension  and  expansion  by  which, 
wherever  there  was  a  child  of  Israel,  there  was  a 
true  presence  of  the  God  of  Israel,  wherever  there 
was  a  devout  Jew  there  was  a  little  sanctuary  of 
Jehovah. 

Something  which  lets  us  understand  this  is  famil- 
iar to  our  modern  thought.  Wherever  there  is  an 
American,  there  is  America,  we  say.  In  foreign 
lands,  in  despotisms,  and  in  deserts,  stands  the  citi- 
zen of  our  free  land  with  its  protection  over  him, 
and,  more  than  that,  with  its  genius  in  him,  and  he 
is  still  American.  Still  back  across  the  ocean  is  the 
country  which  he  loves  ;  still  he  remembers  how 
its  shores  sank  down  into  the  west  as  he  sailed  out 
into  the  sea.  He  knows  it  is  still  there — the  great 
America  without  which  these  little  Americas  in 
which  the  exile  and  the  travellers  live  could  have  no 
reality.  But  they  are  real,  and  he  who  lives  in  them 
lives  in  the  double  fact  that  his  country  is  definitely 
set  here  in  the  world's  map,  and  also  that  her  power 


THE   LITTLE   SANCTUARIES   OF   LIFE.  I79 

and  her  spirit  reach  wherever  her  children  go.  So 
where  the  civilized  man  goes,  there  is  civilization ; 
where  the  artistic  man  goes,  there  is  art ;  where  the 
free  man  goes,  there  is  freedom  burning  in  the 
depths  of  his  free  soul.  Still  each  of  these  great 
interests  has  its  own  central  home  and  shrine.  Still 
there  are  parts  of  the  earth  where  if  one  of  these 
interests  should  perish,  the  flame  would  sink  and 
tremble  if  it  did  not  quite  go  out  through  all  the 
world.  But  of  them  all  the  two  facts  are  both  true. 
They  have  their  fixed  homes  and  their  power  of  ex- 
pansion. They  are  supremely  here,  and  yet  they 
cannot  be  exclusively  and  solely  here ;  wherever 
humanity  in  its  wanderings  builds  them  a  channel, 
they  will  go,  still  feeding  themselves  to  their  remot- 
est reaches  from  the  fountain  and  the  source  at 
home. 

Does  not  this  let  us  feel  how  it  was  with  the  Jews 
at  Babylon  ?  One  of  them  there  remembered  in  his 
desolation  the  promise  which  had  fallen  on  his  ears 
as  he  was  passing  out  of  his  beloved  Jerusalem.  As 
he  remembered  he  looked  up,  and  lo !  a  little  sanc- 
tuary built  itself  about  him  ;  subtle,  impalpable, 
invisible,  so  that  no  Babylonian's  eye  could  see  it, 
so  that  the  scornful  heathen  who  jostled  the  poor 
stranger  on  the  street  did  not  feel  its  walls.  The 
despot  who  insulted  his  wretched  slave  never 
dreamed  of  the  peace  in  which  his  slave's  soul  was 
enshrined  and  perfectly  protected  from  his  insolence. 
But  it  was  there,  this  little  sanctuary,  built  after  the 
pattern  of  the  great  one  in  Jerusalem,  and  full  of 
the  same  conscious,  realized  presence  of  God.    When 


l80  THE   LITTLE   SANCTUARIES   OF   LIFE. 

he  had  once  found  that,  the  bitterest  bitterness  of 
exile  was  gone  for  him. 

And  now  let  us  turn  from  him  to  our  own  lives, 
and  ask  ourselves  what  there  is  in  them  which  corre- 
sponds to  that  which  Jehovah  promised  to  his  people 
by  the  mouth  of  Ezekiel.  What  I  have  said  will 
indicate,  I  hope,  my  meaning  when  I  speak  of  the 
little  sanctuaries  of  life.  There  are  in  life,  just  as 
there  were  in  the  great  East,  certain  regions  which 
are  definitely  and  absolutely  sacred.  In  them  relig- 
ion and  the  certainty  of  God's  presence  are  at  home. 
There  all  highest  thoughts  and  motives  naturally 
abound.  And  then,  outside  those  regions,  there  are 
outlying  tracts  of  life,  what  we  are  apt  to  call  secu- 
lar, which  seem  to  be  destitute  at  least  of  the  con- 
sciousness of  spiritual  interests.  Into  them  our 
circumstances,  like  Babylonian  conquerors,  drive  us. 
And  the  discovery  which  changes  everything  is  that 
in  them,  in  what  seem  to  be  the  heathen,  hopeless 
countries,  the  soul  may  have  its  company  with  God, 
its  spiritual  homes  and  foods.  Those  are  its  little 
sanctuaries.  Still  the  peculiarly  distinctively  relig- 
ious region  stands  apart.  The  hour  of  prayer,  the 
place  of  worship,  the  study  of  the  Bible,  the  quiet 
meditation, — they  make  together  the  great  sanctu- 
ary ;  but  the  home,  the  shop,  the  work,  the  study, 
the  social  circle, — these  are  the  little  sanctuaries,  in 
each  of  which  the  spiritual  life  is  real  and  rich.  It 
is  of  them  and  of  the  spiritual  life  in  them  that  I  ask 
you  to  think  this  morning. 

We  must  remind  ourselves  what  it  is  that  the 
word   "  sanctuary  "    means.      It  is  a  place   made 


THE   LITTLE   SANCTUARIES   OF   LIFE.  l8l 

sacred  by  the  realized  presence  of  God.  Everything 
else  is  accidental ;  that  is  essential.  The  architec- 
ture and  decoration,  the  mysterious  lights  and  shad- 
ows of  the  holy  of  holies  in  the  Jewish  temple,  were 
not  what  made  its  awfulness.  It  was  that  Jehovah 
was  there.  There  He  shone  in  the  Shekinah. 
There  He  told  His  will.  There  He  forgave  sins. 
There  He  bestowed  His  blessing.  There  He  gave 
His  commandments.  We  need  not  go  into  the 
question  of  how  all  this  was  related  to  His  universal 
presence.  We  need  not  even  stop  to  remind  our- 
selves that  God  could  not  be  more  actually  present 
in  the  Holy  place  than  He  was  on  any  breezy  height 
of  Galilee  or  in  the  crowded  streets  of  Babylon.  It 
is  of  His  manifested  and  felt  presence  that  we  are 
speaking.  The  Jew  knew  Him  there  as  he  knew 
Him  nowhere  else;  and  it  was  that  supremely  mani- 
fested presence  of  Jehovah  there  which  made  that 
place,  as  no  other  place  on  the  earth  could  be,  ? 
sanctuary. 

Is  there  not,  in  the  life  of  every  man  whose  life 
fulfils  itself,  something  which  perfectly  corresponds 
to  this  central  sanctuary  of  Jerusalem.  There  are 
hours  when  God  is  no  more  truly  present  with  us 
than  at  other  times,  but  when  we  claim  and  feel  His 
presence  we  shut  the  door  and  pray ;  on  bended 
knees  we  tell  our  soul's  wants  directly  into  the  ear 
of  the  all-hearing  love.  Up  from  our  soul's  depths 
come  welling  into  our  consciousness  the  profoundest 
needs.  Promises  issuing  from  the  Holy  Book,  or 
no  less  certainly  communicated  to  us  from  our 
knowledge  of  the  necessities  of  the  divine  nature. 


1 82  THE   LITTLE   SANCTUARIES   OF  LIFE. 

come  down  to  meet  the  need  and  fold  themselves 
about  it.  Visions  of  what  we  are  in  God's  idea  of 
us,  and  of  what  we  might  be  in  the  entire  fulfilment 
of  that  idea, — certainties,  absolute  certainties,  of 
God's  unaltered  and  unalterable  love,  deep  com- 
munion with  Him, — all  these  lie  at  the  centre  of  the 
spiritual  life.  Nothing  can  do  away  with  the  neces- 
sity and  blessedness  of  these.  Nothing  which  God 
can  do  for  the  soul  in  its  less  conscious  hours  can 
supersede  the  necessity  of  these  times,  supremely, 
absolutely  lived  with  Him. 

We  fear  sometimes  that  these  days  of  the  great 
sanctuary  have  grown  less  common  with  many  souls 
than  they  once  used  to  be.  Let  us  remember  that 
we  cannot  live  without  them.  Do  you  ever  shut 
the  door  and  meditate  ?  Are  you  ever  humbly  and 
filially  alone  with  God  ?  Do  you  ever  pray  ?  If 
not,  you  do  not  know  what  the  richest  richness  of 
existence  is.  Oh,  before  it  is  too  late,  before  the 
power  is  lost,  before  the  hinges  of  the  sacred  door 
are  rusted  so  that  it  will  not  open,  appeal  to  your 
own  soul,  demand  of  your  own  soul  that  it  shall 
know  its  privilege  and  insist  that  it  shall  claim  its 
right  and  power  of  separating  itself  from  everything 
beside   and  keeping  company  with  God. 

But  when  one  has  done  that — when  a  soul  has 
these  hours  of  rich  communion — then  the  question 
comes.  What  shall  be  done  with  all  the  rest  of  life  ? 
How  is  it  with  the  hours  when  the  church  and  closet 
must  be  left  behind,  and,  in  the  Babylon  of  the 
world,  the  man  must  be  living  the  common  life  of 
men  ?     Then  comes  the  doctrine  of  the  little  sanctu- 


THE   LITTLE   SANCTUARIES  OF  LIFE.  1 83 

aries  built  by  the  expansive  influence  of  the  divine 

and  more  sacred  times. 

Here  is  the  home  Hfe.  How  many  fathers  and 
mothers,  heads  of  households  full  of  children,  full 
of  cares,  see  in  their  houshold  life  only  a  Babylon. 
The  self,  with  its  deep  needs,  is  swallowed  up  in 
the  confusion  of  the  busy  days.  The  countless 
plannings  and  devisings  make  any  one  great  plan  of 
life  impossible;  which  is  very  much  like  saying  that 
the  effort  to  go  from  Albany  to  Buffalo  makes  us 
lose  the  road  from  Boston  to  Chicago.  The  par- 
ent's religious  life  is  wasted  in  the  perpetual  desire 
to  make  the  children  good ;  which  is  very  much  like 
saying  that  the  tree  is  killed  in  order  that  the  leaves 
may  grow. 

What  shall  we  say  of  this  ?  Must  we  not  say 
that  the  trouble  lies  in  the  conception  which  per- 
vades many  homes,  that  the  home-governors,  the 
home-rulers  are  to  be  Christians  and  live  spiritual 
lives,  not  in  virtue  of  but  in  spite  of  their  home 
occupations  and  household  cares  ?  If  they  can  get 
rid  of  that  idea — if  they  can  expect  to  see  God  com- 
ing to  them  not  over  nor  around  but  through  the 
home  relationships  which  He  himself  has  built — 
then  Babylon  is  transfigured,  and  in  the  very  tumul- 
tuous heart  of  the  overcrowding  worry  the  little 
sanctuary  springs  to  life. 

The  household  truths  are  justice  and  love — not 
separate  and  standing  off  and  fighting  one  another, 
but  blending  into  one  rich  composite  quahty  which 
has  such  a  chance  to  make  beautiful  manifesta- 
tion of  itself  nowhere  else  on  earth.     Everything 


1 84  THE   LITTLE   SANCTUARIES  OF   LIFE. 

which  goes  on  within  the  four  walls  must  spring 
from  and  must  educate  that  noble  quality  of  just 
affection  and  of  loving  justice.  What  then  ?  To 
father  or  mother,  brother  or  sister,  who  lives  in  the 
spirit  of  that  quality,  must  there  not  come  times 
when  it  lifts  itself  from  its  lower  to  its  higher  exhi- 
bition, when  the  just  love  and  loving  justice  of  God 
become  real  to  the  soul  by  very  reason  of  this  ma- 
chinery of  the  household  which  seem  to  shut  them 
out.  The  divine  home,  the  domestic  peace  of  God, 
the  strong,  warm  holding  of  the  life  in  the  great 
hands,  are  brought  near  and  rescued  from  their 
awful  distance  by  that  which  is  going  on  in  this 
lower  household  every  day.  The  father,  looking 
up  and  saying,  "  My  Father,"  finds  a  little  sanctu- 
ary in  the  prayer. 

There  seems  to  be  an  even  bitterer  exile  when 
the  soul  leaves  the  closet  and  the  shrine,  not  for  the 
home  but  for  the  shop.  How  many  Christian  mer- 
chants there  are  who  are  always  expecting  and 
counting  on  the  time  when  they  can  shut  the  office 
door  at  night,  and  go  home  and  be  Christians  again 
after  the  day's  necessary  worldliness.  How  many 
of  their  lives  are  always  anticipating  the  years  when 
work  will  be  over,  and  they  can  sit  down  and  care 
for  their  souls  in  quiet.  Those  years  perhaps  will 
come,  perhaps  will  not.  The  exile  may  or  may  not 
return  to  Jerusalem,  and  live  wholly  there  ;  but 
surely  there  is  something  wrong  if  the  active  years 
have  not  their  own  nearness  to  God  which  they  and 
they  alone  can  give.  The  active  years,  the  years 
of  work,  the  years  of  used  and  ever-ripening  powers ! 


THE  LITTLE  SANCTUARIES  OF  LIFE,  1 85 

Do  you  remember  what  Jesus  said,  "  My  Father 
worketh  and  I  work."  Rich  were  the  moments 
when  He  lay  upon  the  mountain  top,  and  the  great 
peace  of  God  gathered  around  Him  in  the  darkness, 
but  there  was  another  sense  of  His  Father's  pres- 
ence which  came  to  Him  elsewhere  than  there.  In 
work,  in  obedience,  and  cooperation  came  the  rich 
company  of  each  with  each. 

You  sit  and  hold  communion  with  your  friend. 
You  match  your  thoughts;  you  shars  each  other's 
confidence ;  and  then  the  clock  strikes  and  working- 
time  has  come,  and  you  rise  up  together  and  go 
out.  The  same  tasks  greet  you  both.  You  build 
the  wall,  you  plough  the  field,  you  drive  the  engine, 
or  you  bargain  in  the  trade  together.  Is  there  not 
another  union  between  you  which  no  depth  of  medi- 
tative communion  could  have  made  ?  Two  men  do 
not  know  each  other  till  they  have  worked  together. 
To  have  faced  the  same  difficulties,  to  have  rejoiced 
in  the  same  success — that  makes  each  present  to  the 
other  in  a  new  and  living  way. 

If  then  the  work  of  shop  and  office  can  be  indeed, 
and  can  be  felt  to  be,  working  with  God,  certainly 
in  that  cooperation  there  may  be  a  little  sanctuary. 
Does  God  want  those  things  done  which  you  are 
doing  every  day  ?  Does  He  want  the  railroad  built, 
the  process  of  civilization  maintained,  the  family  sup- 
ported, the  laborer  supplied  with  work  ?  Does  God 
want  those  qualities  which  the  best  doing  of  business 
involves, — integrity,  energy,  mercy,  intelligence, 
maintained  upon  the  earth  ?  Are  the  operations  of 
your  trade  as  legitimate  outputtings  of  true  forces 


1 86         THE  LITTLE  SANCTUARIES  OF  LIFE. 

as  are  the  movements  of  the  planets  or  the  blowing 
of  the  winds  ?  If  they  are,  then  he  who  does  these 
things  may  dare  to  think  of  himself  as  God's  co- 
worker, and  down  the  medium  of  their  common 
work  the  presence  of  the  great  worker  may  flow  and 
surround  his  fellow-laborer. 

It  is  not  work,  but  work  done  ignobly,  done  undi- 
vinely,  that  separates  the  man  who  works  from  God. 
Do  not  desert  your  work,  but  pierce  into  its  heart, 
exalt  it  to  its  loftiest  conception  if  you  would  be 
more  holy.  Strike  God's  iron  on  the  anvil,  see 
God's  goods  across  the  counter,  put  God's  wealth 
in  circulation  on  the  street,  teach  God's  children  in 
the  school, — so  shall  the  dust  of  your  labor  build 
itself  into  a  little  sanctuary  where  you  and  God  shall 
dwell  together. 

If  there  is  any  labor  which  we  should  be  apt  to 
say  would  make  the  life  of  the  laborer  undivine  and 
separate  his  soul  from  God,  perhaps  it  would  be 
politics.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  if  there  is  any 
work  which  ought  to  make  the  worker  feel  God's 
company  and  get  the  inspiration  of  that  feeling,  it 
is  politics.  Politics  as  a  selfish  rivalry  of  personal 
interests,  as  a  race  of  partisanship,  is  as  far  from 
God  as  darkness  is  from  light.  It  wraps  the  poli- 
tician round  with  a  dense  robe  of  selfishness,  through 
which  no  sacredness  can  penetrate.  But  politics  as  an 
application  of  great  principles,  as  the  securing  of  the 
operation  of  eternal  laws,  is  God's  work,  and  he 
who  works  in  it  must  work  with  God.  If  the  un- 
devout  astronomer  is  mad,  the  politician  who  dis- 
owns the  divine  forces  with  which  he  deals  is  a  blind 


THE   LITTLE   SANCTUARIES   OF   LIFE.  1 8/ 

fool.  And  in  this  country  we  are  all  politicians. 
To  know  the  best  that  we  can  learn  of  what  is  good 
for  these  sixty  millions  of  the  children  of  God,  and 
to  do  what  we  can  by  our  ballot  and  influence  to 
secure  it, — this  is  to  work  with  God ;  and  he  who 
does  it  faithfully  finds  his  political  thought  and  labor 
a  little  sanctuary  wherein  God  speaks  to  him,  and 
gives  him  richly  of  His  spirit. 

Suppose  a  man  wants  to  be  a  minister,  and  to 
give  himself  directly  and  entirely  to  sacred  things; 
and  suppose  that  circumstances  or  some  inexorable 
demand  of  troublous  times  compels  him  to  give  up 
that  privileged  career,  and  to  devote  himself  to  poli- 
tics. I  can  almost  see  the  longing  with  which  he 
looks  back.  He  is  not  then  to  live  with  God. 
There  is  to  be  no  divine  communion  for  his  soul. 
Alas  for  him  if  at  least  sometimes  in  the  midst  of 
his  perplexities  and  struggles  there  does  not  come 
a  better  and  a  nobler  thought  about  it  all,  so  that 
he  says,  not  as  the  rhetoric  of  a  campaign  speech  to 
a  crowd,  but  as  a  message  from  on  high  to  his  own 
soul,  that  since  what  he  is  working  for  is  what  God 
wants,  therefore  he  is  with  God  and  God  is  with  him 
in  his  working,  and  so  he  may  take  courage  and  ex- 
pect to  be  kept  pure  in  the  midst  of  corrupt  machin- 
eries and  pest,  in  the  dust  of  numberless  details.  If 
that  consciousness  never  comes  to  him,  surely  he 
ought  to  be  much  afraid  that  what  he  is  doing  is 
not  the  work  of  God. 

Among  the  Babylons  into  which  men's  lives  are 
led  it  is  not  possible  for  us  to  forget  that  which  is 
ordinarily  called  society, — the  world  of  fashion  and 


1 88         THE  LITTLE  SANCTUARIES  OF  LIFE. 

of  conventionally  established  and  arranged  inter* 
course  of  people  with  each  other.  It  is  a  hard  and 
barren  world.  It  is  not  rich  in  character  nor  in  abil- 
ity. It  crushes  individuality  and  makes  enthusiasm 
seem  ridiculous.  Each  winter  in  our  great  cities 
makes  its  silly  despotism  seem  more  terrible.  Into  the 
borders  of  that  world  there  comes  some  fresh  young 
nature,  full  of  belief  in  good  and  God,  eager  with 
youthful  piety,  keen  in  the  wish  to  grow  to  its  own 
best  and  to  help  other  natures  to  their  full  develop- 
ment. What  an  old  story  it  is  of  how  there  comes 
first  the  disappointment,  and  then  the  demoraliza- 
tion. First  the  pure  standards  are  shocked,  and 
then  they  yield.  First  they  say  "  This  is  dread- 
ful," and  then  they  say,  "  Who  can  see  anything 
dreadful  about  this  ?  "  Where  is  the  salvation  ? 
Where  it  always  is.  In  brave  insistence  that  the 
very  power  which  is  trying  to  crush  our  life  shall  lift 
it  and  inspire  and  fulfil  it.  When  the  young  man 
or  woman  in  society  keeps  clear  and  strong  the 
sense  of  individual  existence  and  the  craving  for  the 
opportunity  to  help  the  lives  whose  deeper  possibil- 
ities are  visible  through  all  their  tinsel,  there  is  sal- 
vation. And  that  sense  and  craving  can  be  kept 
by,  and  help  to  keep,  the  certainty  of  God's  pres- 
ence. 

There  are  in  every  thickest  crowd  of  frivolity  and 
selfishness  some  pure  souls  who  walk  with  God. 
Nearer  than  those  who  touch  them  nearest,  is  He. 
Others  may  come  and  go,  but  He  is  constant. 
Through  the  close  envelope  of  His  invisible  com- 
panionship no  blow  or  poison  can  assail  them.     For 


THE  LITTLE  SANCTUARIES  OF  LIFE.  1 89 

them  there  is  no  need  to  run  away  from  society. 
They  are  away  from  it  in  its  very  midst.  Their 
personal  Hfe  is  intensified  by  their  companionships, 
and  the  desire  to  be  helpful  feeds  itself  out  of  the 
very  selfishness  by  which  it  is  surrounded.  Thus  in 
the  heart  of  society  a  soul  may  enshrine  itself  in 
God. 

The  same  is  true  of  study  and  scholarship.  Will 
you  lose  God  among  your  books,  O  scholar!  In 
the  fascination  of  the  search  for  truths  will  you  let 
go  out  of  your  soul  the  certainty  that  there  is  at  the 
heart  of  everything  one  truth,  one  beating,  throb- 
bing, living  soul  whose  name  is  not  truth  alone,  but 
love  ?  I  feel  two  tendencies  in  the  world  of  thought 
and  study.  One  of  them  is  to  cast  God  out  alto- 
gether, as  incapable  of  being  known,  if  not  incapable 
of  existing;  the  other  is  to  keep  God  apart  as  if  He 
could  not  live  with  learning,  and  to  pay  in  some 
obscure  corner  of  the  brain  a  worship  which  can 
have  no  warrant  and  no  meaning  for  the  intellect, 
to  make,  as  it  were,  hurried  little  journeys  back  to 
Jerusalem  in  order  to  find  for  a  few  minutes  the 
God  who  has  been  left  there,  and  for  whom  Babylon 
can  find  no  place. 

Neither  of  those  two  things  will  do.  It  is  in  schol- 
arship and  learning  that  the  God  of  truth  is  to  be 
found.  It  is  as  the  sum  and  heart  of  all  knowledge 
that  He  is  to  be  known.  O  you  young  scholars  who 
come  crowding  back  in  these  autumn  days  to  school 
and  college,  are  you  leaving  the  sanctuary  behind 
you  in  the  homes  where  you  are  loved,  and  in  the 
fields  where  you  have  breathed  the  air  of  God  ?     Is 


190  THE   LITTLE   SANCTUARIES   OF   LIFE. 

there  no  special  meeting  of  your  soul  with  His 
which  is  possible  for  you  among  your  books,  which 
is  possible  nowhere  in  the  world  beside  ?  Believe 
that  there  is,  and  how  good  is  this  great  autumn 
trooping  of  students  through  the  open  doors!  Be- 
lieve that  there  is  not,  and  it  is  a  sad,  a  tragical  pro- 
cession. Let  the  heavens  be  darkened  and  the  sun 
withdraw  its  shining  as  they  come.  But  there  is. 
In  the  heart  of  all  true  study  God  makes  Himself  a 
little  sanctuary,  and  enshrines  the  true  scholar  in 
Himself. 

But  it  is  not  necessary  to  multiply  situations, 
conditions  of  exile  in  which  God  comes  to  man  and 
builds  His  presence  round  them  like  a  sanctuary. 
Everything  which  seems  at  first  to  separate  a  man 
from  God,  but  by  and  by  shows  that  it  has  a  power 
to  bring  God  and  man  together  in  some  rich  way  of 
its  own,  illustrates  what  I  have  tried  to  preach. 
What  multitudes  of  sick  rooms  there  are  where  God 
has  built  His  little  sanctuary  round  the  sufferer, 
and  surprised  him  with  a  new  kind  of  peace  of  which 
he  never  dreamed  in  health!  What  mountains  of 
temptation  where  the  struggling  soul  which  thought 
itself  alone  has  found  itself  alone  with  God !  What 
doubters  who  in  their  wilderness  of  doubt  have  felt 
gathering  around  them  the  walls  of  a  peculiar  and 
most  steadfast  faith  !  * '  Oh,  if  I  had  time  to  rest 
and  pray,"  you  say;  "  Oh,  if  this  pain  would  stop 
a  moment  and  let  me  think  and  worship,"  "  Oh,  if 
this  pressure  of  other  people's  needs  would  relax 
and  let  me  care  one  hour  for  myself!"  Those  are 
the  cries  of  the  exile  for  his  lost  Jerusalem.    And  to 


THE   LITTLE   SANCTUARIES   OF   LIFE.         I9I 

each,  if  the  man  has  ears  to  hear,  there  comes  the 
answer,  "  Thus  saith  the  Lord  God,  I  will  be  to 
them  a  little  sanctuary  in  the  countries  where  they 
shall  come."  Then  the  business  and  the  pain  and 
the  service  of  others'  needs  grows  more  than  toler- 
able, grows  beautiful  and  gracious  to  the  soul. 

In  the  great  cathedral  of  the  world  there  is  the 
high  altar  of  perpetual,  visible  religion,  where  the 
worship  is  forever  going  on.  There  all  men  meet 
and  own  themselves,  in  conscious  and  deliberate 
devotion,  the  sons  of  God.  And  then  there  are 
the  chapels,  each  with  its  special  altar,  where  they 
who  have  their  own  peculiar  work  to  do  find  that 
of  God  which  in  that  work  can  give  itself  to  man. 
But  one  great  roof  covers  them  all.  He  who  goes 
from  the  high  altar  to  the  chapel  does  not  go  outside 
the  church.  The  worship  is  all  one,  whatever  be 
the  strain  in  which  the  music  sounds. 

Here  is  the  unity  of  life — the  diffused  presence  of 
God,  which  no  man  in  any  exile  can  outgo — which 
makes  of  the  whole  world  the  universal  Church. 

Be  sure,  my  friends,  that  both  at  the  high  altar  of 
the  distinct  Christian  experience  and  also  in  the 
chapel  of  your  own  peculiar  life  you  find  God.  So 
only  do  you  fulfil  the  particular  with  the  universal, 
and  make  the  universal  strong  and  clear  with  the 
particular  as  well. 

To  go  down  from  the  high  altar  to  the  chapel  is 
not  to  go  away  from  God.  To  pass  out  of  the  great 
inspiring  thoughts  into  the  personal  duties  is  not  to 
cease  to  be  religious.  It  need  not  be,  at  least.  It 
may  be  the  clothing  of  religion    with  reality,   the 


192         THE  LITTLE  SANCTUARIES  OF  LIFE. 

grip  and  grasp  on  truth  and  God  and  light.  There, 
in  the  little  sanctuary,  He  who  in  the  great  sanctu- 
ary our  careless  souls  have  missed  may  make  us  see 
Him,  and  believe  Him  and  love  Him  and  take  Him 
for  our  own. 

So  may  it  be  with  you.  You  need  God  for  the 
very  things  which  seem  to  separate  you  from  Him. 
You  must  seek  Him  in  the  very  places  where  the 
misery  of  life  seems  to  be  that  He  is  not.  You 
must  question  the  stoniest  paths  for  springs  of 
water.  You  must  stand  in  the  midst  of  doubts  and 
look  for  faith. 

What  does  the  miracle  of  Jesus  mean  but  this  ? 
"  Can  any  good  thing  come  out  of  Nazareth  ?" 
and  lo!  the  Saviour  is  a  Nazarene.  "  Can  any  man 
provide  food  here  in  the  wilderness  ?  "  "  And  they 
took  of  the  loaves  and  likewise  of  the  fishes  as  much 
as  they  would."  "  He  saved  others,  Himself  He 
could  not  save,"  and  **  behold  forth  from  the  Cross 
shone  the  glory  of  the  Son  of  God." 

Some  day  the  exiles  shall  go  back  to  Jerusalem. 
They  shall  enter  into  the  city  where  everything  is 
visibly  and  manifestly  holy.  They  shall  be  in  the 
unhindered  sight  of  Him  that  sitteth  on  the  throne 
and  of  the  Lamb  forever.  While  they  abide  in 
Babylon  may  He  give  them  grace  to  see  that  He  is 
with  them  there,  and  to  rejoice  in  the  "  little  sanc- 
tuaries "  which  He  makes,  which  He  is,  for  them  in 
their  land  of  exile ! 


XIL 

STORM  AND   CALM. 

"  And  there  was  a  great  calm." — Matt.  viii.  26. 

How  strongly  and  satisfyingly  these  words  come 
in  at  the  close  of  the  story  of  the  storm  upon  the 
Sea  of  Tiberias.  Jesus  and  His  disciples  are  sailing 
across  the  lake  together.  "  And  behold  there  arose  a 
great  tempest  in  the  sea  insomuch  that  the  ship  was 
covered  with  the  waves :  but  He  was  asleep.  And 
His  disciples  came  to  Him  and  awoke  Him,  saying, 
Lord,  save  us,  we  perish!  And  He  saith  unto 
them,  Why  are  ye  fearful,  O  ye  of  little  faith. 
Then  He  arose  and  rebuked  the  winds  and  the  sea. 
And  there  was  a  great  calm."  There  is  the  noise 
and  hurry  and  fight.  The  wild  winds  and  clouds 
overhead,  the  wild  waters  beneath,  the  panic- 
stricken  hearts  within  the  boat.  One  moment  all  is 
tumult  and  distress.  The  next  moment  Jesus  has 
risen  from  the  pillow  where  He  is  sleeping  and 
looked  around,  and  said  a  word,  and  made  a  gesture, 
and  all  is  changed.  "  There  is  a  great  calm." 
The  beauty  of  the  story  is  in  the  way  in  which  the 
change  all  comes  from  and  belongs  to  Jesus. 
When  He  rises  the  storm  stops.  The  calm  that 
comes  is  from  the  power  of  His  presence.     As  if  3. 

103 


194  STORM  AND  CALM. 

strong,  quiet  man  stepped  in  majestically  among  a 
crowd  of  noisy  brawlers,  and  his  very  appearance 
made  them  ashamed  and  hushed  their  noise.  So 
Jesus  steps  in  among  the  elements,  and  they  are 
still  in  a  moment.  It  is  a  picture  of  the  peace  that 
He  bestows.  However  feebly  we  understand  it, 
the  story  at  least  is  luminous  to  every  loving  eye 
with  this — the  majesty  and  beauty  of  Christ  and 
the  way  in  which  peace  flows  out  abundantly  wher- 
ever He  is  truly  present.  A  thousand  thousand 
saints  have  felt  that.  These  stories  of  the  Bible, 
these  stories  of  Jesus,  are  so  full  of  His  spirit  that 
they  scatter  it  everywhere,  and  the  calm  that  fell 
upon  the  waters  of  Gennesaret  has  been  renewed  in 
the  peacefulness  and  rest  that  have  fallen  upon  mul- 
titudes of  hearts  that  have  read  or  listened  to  the 
narrative. 

And  how  the  same  words  tell  the  story  of  some 
point  or  crisis  in  a  Hfe.  A  period  of  tumult  comes 
and  passes.  The  storm  of  feeling  is  excited,  and 
when  it  has  fought  itself  out  in  its  fury,  it  goes 
down  and  there  is  peace.  A  struggle  for  life,  for 
bread,  is  pressing  for  a  while  and  then  the  life  sails 
out  into  smoother  water;  peace  comes  where  there 
used  to  be  suspense.  There  is  a  great  calm.  It  is 
what  the  most  eager  and  excited  experiences  are 
always  looking  forward  to, — not  to  be  forever  dis- 
tressed and  harassed,  but  some  day  to  feel  things 
growing  smooth  and  easy,  to  find  a  calmness  and 
repose.  Some  men  do  find  it  far  more  easily  than 
others — indeed,  some  lives  are  placid  by  their  very 
make  and  nature — but  I  think  that  it  comes  to  us 


STORM  AND   CALM.  I95 

all,  at  least  in  vague  misgivings,  that  there  must  be 
a  calmness  and  repose  consistent  with  the  fullest  life 
and  the  most  faithful  duty  and  the  most  earnest 
thought,  of  which  almost  all  men  almost  entirely 
miss.  As  we  are  whirled  about  in  our  maelstrom 
we  are  aware,  or  at  least  we  picture  to  ourselves, 
that  there  is  quiet  water  close  beside  us.  Our 
ship  grazes  its  placid  surface,  and  then  is  swept 
back  into  the  tumult  and  the  storm.  Is  it  a  reality 
which  we  see,  or  only  a  picture  which  our  fancy 
draws  ?  I  should  like  to  try  to  speak  this  morning 
of  the  calmness  that  God  really  gives  to  people's 
lives.  It  seems  to  me  to  be  something  that  we 
are  all  so  vaguely  desiring  and  seeking  that  it  can- 
not but  be  well  worth  while  to  try  to  understand 
a  little  of  what  it  is  and  how  it  comes. 

In  the  first  place,  then,  the  quality  of  which  we 
speak  is  not  a  matter  of  original  temperament.  We 
know  how  different  men  are.  We  know  how  se- 
renely some  men  bear,  by  the  very  constitution  of 
their  nature,  experiences  that  overwhelm  the  sensi- 
tive brethren  beside  them.  It  is  an  open  question 
which  life  is  best.  No  man  can  say  whether  the 
passionless  serenity  of  the  calm  man's  life  loses  more 
in  the  lack  of  strong  enjoyment  than  it  escapes  in 
the  absence  of  keen  suffering.  But,  at  any  rate, 
that  is  not  the  difference  that  we  refer  to.  Nor  is  it 
the  mere  placidity  of  outward  circumstances, — the 
even  flow  of  life  that  slips  without  a  ripple  on  from 
experience  to  experience,  from  year  to  year.  That 
is  so  often  merely  external,  so  apt  to  be  deceptive. 
There  is  the  chafing  and  restlessness  that  goes  on  in 


V 


196  STORM  AND  CALM. 

the  quietest  lives,  and  now  and  then  we  are  taken 
by  surprise  when  we  are  able  to  look  down  through 
some  break  in  the  most  restless  and  excited  career 
and  see  in  what  perfect  repose  of  soul  the  man  is 
living  underneath  it  all.  Men  try  sometimes  to  calm 
the  tumult  of  the  inner  life  for  themselves,  or  for 
one  another,  by  merely  making  the  outward  circum- 
stances calm  and  peaceful,  but  it  does  no  good.  It 
is  only  dressing  the  maniac  in  a  quaker's  clothes. 
They  may  hush  and  awe  him  for  a  moment  with 
their  serene  composure,  but  after  the  moment's 
hush  is  over  he  will  be  as  wild  as  ever,  and  tear  his 
uncongenial  dress  to  tatters. 

Neither  the  calmness  of  temperament  nor  the 
calmness  of  circumstances,  then,  is  what  we  mean. 
Both  of  these,  of  course,  are  gifts  of  God.  No  hand 
but  our  Father's  tunes  and  disposes  the  subtle  adap- 
tations of  His  children's  characters,  or  arranges  with 
the  fitnesses  of  harmony  or  contrast  the  scenery  in 
the  midst  of  which  they  are  to  pass  their  lives.  It 
is  God  who  lays  His  hand  upon  a  new  life  just  going 
out  from  His  creative  presence  and  gives  it  a  peace- 
fulness  and  calm  which  it  brings  back  to  Him  when 
it  returns  for  judgment.  But  it  is  striking  to  see 
how  much  more  easily  we  think  of  what  comes  to 
us  by  education  and  experience  than  of  that  which 
comes  to  us  in  our  original  constitution  as  the  gift 
of  God.  It  seems  to  be  in  some  higher  sense  appre- 
ciable as  a  gift  when  it  enters  in  through  our  con- 
sciousness by  His  discipline  than  when  He  sows  it 
among  the  seeds  of  our  unconscious  being  before 
we  are  born.     And  so  it  is  the  calmness  that  comes 


STORM  AND  CALM.  I97 

from  our  own  thoughtful,  fruitful  experience  of  life 
lha.t  we  want  most  to  consider  and  be  thankful  for. 

I  am  assuming  all  along  that  calmness  is  a  bless- 
ing. Are  we  ready  to  assume  that  absolutely  ?  It 
is  strange  what  two  ideas  are  current,  and  how  im- 
perfectly we  reconcile  them  with  one  another.  One 
idea  is  that  tumult  and  excitement  is  bad,  the  other 
is  that  nothing  can  be  worse  for  a  man  than  absolute 
calmness  and  serenity.  We  hold  to  both  ideas  by 
turns.  We  cannot  settle  down  to  either.  As  soon 
as  our  life  begins  to  attain  its  longed-for  peace  we 
begin  to  fear  it  and  to  reach  back  after  the  disturb- 
ance which  we  tried  so  hard  to  escape  from.  All 
this  seems  strange,  but  it  is  not  to  be  disregarded. 
It  is  not  unaccountable.  It  shows  us  clearly  enough 
that  mere  calmness,  indiscriminately,  will  not  do. 
It  must  be  of  the  right  sort.  It  must  come  from 
the  right  source.  It  must  be  lively  and  not  deadly. 
It  must  keep  and  not  lose  the  best  blessings  that 
belong  to  tumultuous  life.  It  must  be  the  calm- 
ness of  perfect  action  and  not  of  mere  stagnation. 

Indeed  it  is  evident  enough  what  a  difference  there 
is  in  different  men's  composure.  Two  men  are  wait- 
ing for  their  execution.  Compare  the  stolidity  of 
one  with  the  quiet,  patient  faith  of  the  other.  Paul 
and  Silas  are  in  prison  at  Philippi,  "  And  at  mid- 
night they  prayed  and  sang  praises  unto  God." 
How  different  from  the  dreary  silence  of  despair 
with  which  perhaps  some  poor  wretch  in  the  next 
cell  waited  for  his  doom.  Yet  both  were  calm.  See 
two  men  as  they  lie  upon  their  death-beds.  One 
like  a  brute,  one  like  a  saint,  they  both  are  calmly 


198  STORM  AND  CALM. 

waiting  for  the  end.  Such  scenes  as  these  show  us 
plainly  enough  that  there  is  a  higher  peace  and  a 
lower,  a  good  calmness  and  a  bad.  Do  they  not 
throw  abundant  light  upon  those  words  of  Jesus, 
"  Peace  I  leave  with  you.  My  peace  I  give  unto 
you.     Not  as  the  world  giveth  give  I  unto  you." 

And  now  let  us  come  and  consider  what  the  calm- 
ness is  which,  brought  out  by  the  discipline  of  life, 
may  be  really  accepted  as  God's  gift.  The  truth 
.seems  to  me  to  be  this :  that  the  calmness  to  which 
God  is  always  leading  us  consists  in  a  perfect  poise 
of  tasks  and  powers.  And  this  idea  is  valuable  be- 
cause as  we  follow  it  out  it  explains  both  the  attain- 
ment of  calmness  and  the  loss  of  calmness  which 
occur  in  every  growing  life,  and  shows  how  they  are 
consistent  with  one  another.  Let  us  look  into  this. 
Take  the  lowest  life,  the  life  of  the  vegetable.  We 
easily  attribute  to  it  a  perfectly  calm  existence.  Its 
tasks  and  its  powers  are  in  perfect  poise.  Its  work 
is  to  grow,  and  the  power  of  growth  is  present  in  the 
plant.  But  just  as  soon  as  life  advances  another 
stage,  as  soon  as  you  come  up  to  the  brutes,  little 
as  we  know  of  their  existence,  we  have  a  misgiving 
that  the  repose  is  lost.  The  poise  is  not  so  perfect. 
Here  are  desires  that  the  powers  cannot  gratify. 
We  have  entered  into  a  world  of  passion  and  unrest. 
Then  come  to  man,  and  you  have  all  the  higher 
range  of  tasks,  each  calling  for  its  power,  each  mak- 
ing clamor  and  disturbance  till  its  power  comes  to 
match  it.  Now  see  what  the  course  is.  Here  is  a 
life  at  low  rest  (as  we  may  say).  It  acknowledges 
few  responsibilities  and  finds  in  itself  the  powers  to 


STORM  AND  CALM.  1 99 

fulfil  them  all.  Now  let  a  new  duty  press  itself 
upon  that  life,  a  new  emotion,  a  new  experience  of 
any  kind,  before  untried.  The  first  result  is  a  dis- 
turbance. The  demands  and  the  powers  are  thrown 
out  of  poise.  But  by  and  by  the  power  comes  up 
to  meet  the  new  task.  The  two  are  harmonized 
upon  a  higher  level.  There  is  a  loftier  calm  attained. 
But  still  it  is  not  the  highest — another  need  appears. 
Once  more  the  balance  is  disturbed ;  and  only  when 
the  nature  equals  this  new  demand  is  it  restored.  So 
it  goes  on.  So  it  goes  up.  Each  higher  calm  pro- 
vokes a  new  disturbance,  and  only  so  a  calm  a  little 
higher  is  reached.  Each  in  its  turn  is  the  healthy 
condition  of  the  growing  soul.  Before  us  all,  as  the 
consummation,  far  off  is  seen  the  perfect  rest  in  God 
when  task  and  power  shall  be  eternally  equal  to  one 
another  but  for  the  imperfect  being  seeking  perfec- 
tion, it  is  in  this  constantly  alternating  attainment 
and  dislodgment,  this  calm  and  tumult  following 
each  other  that  the  happy  and  healthy  life  consists. 

This  is  the  general  truth  I  want  to  teach.  But  I 
can  show  its  meaning  best  if  we  take  various  special 
problems  and  difficulties  of  life  and  show  how  in  them 
men  come  to  a  calmness  that  is  given  them  by  God. 

I,  Here,  for  instance,  is  this  endless  problem  of 
the  condition  of  the  world  we  live  in.  Any  man 
who  has  eyes  cannot  help  gazing  at  it  sometimes; 
and  can  any  man  look  at  it  calmly,  mixed  as  it  is  of 
sin  and  sorrow,  pain,  deceit,  hindrance,  hate,  all 
confused  with  the  divine  things  that  are  in  it  all 
the  while  ?  Well,  see  how  it  illustrates  our  princi- 
ple.     Some  base,   low-minded    man,   some    mere 


200  STORM   AND   CALM. 

indifferent  spectator,  some  purblind  mole  of  selfish- 
ness, looks  at  it  and  declares,  "  Oh,  it  is  all  right  "  ; 
"  There  is  no  trouble. "  He  sees  no  problem.  His 
coarse  gaze  finds  no  mystery.  There  is  no  puzzle, 
and  so  no  struggle ;  and  so  on  he  drifts  in  the  com- 
placent serenity  of  his  self-satisfaction.  Close  by 
his  side  is  a  nature  which  the  blind  problem  of  the 
world  perplexes  through  and  through.  Here  is  a 
man  whom  the  apparent  injustice  of  the  universe 
stirs  to  the  very  core.  He  cannot  keep  calm.  He 
lives  in  a  continual  indignation.  His  life  is  full  of 
outbursts  of  discontent.  He  sees  things  wrong,  not 
right!  What  shall  we  say  ?  Has  not  that  man  ad- 
vanced ?  Is  not  this  disturbance  a  higher  condition 
than  the  old  stagnant  calm  ?  Let  us  not  blame 
the  last  or  praise  the  other.  Let  us  thank  God 
when  He  lets  us  break  loose  from  the  first  calm  in 
which  the  lower  natures  live,  and  break  out  into 
vitter  hatred  or  contempt  of  meanness,  utter  impa- 
tience at  the  deep-felt  moral  contradictions  of  the 
universe,  even  although  it  may  convulse  us  to  the 
bottom  and  break  our  calmness  all  to  pieces.  Let 
us  be  afraid  if  we  find  ourselves  growing  incapable 
of  such  noble  excitement  and  disturbance !  But, 
once  again,  what  then  ?  This  is  not  final.  The  dis- 
turbance has  come  from  the  intrusion  of  a  higher 
demand.  The  calm  has  been  broken!  How  shal- 
it  be  restored  ?  Only  when  the  powerful  sense  of 
God's  government  is  brought  to  meet  this  spectacle 
of  prevalent  disorder,  only  when  behind  all  the  un- 
rest and  distraction  that  we  see  our  souls  are  certain 
that  there  is  a  power  of  order  and  beneficence  at 


STORM   AND   CALM.  20I 

work,  capable  perfectly  of  controlling  the  disorder 
and  bringing  peace  out  of  discord, — only  then  do 
we  rise  to  the  second  and  higher  level  of  calm,  where 
task  and  power  once  more  are  in  poise.  We  begin 
with  the  serenity  of  clearly-seen  conditions ;  we  pass 
into  the  perplexities  of  apparent  confusion ;  and  we 
come  at  last  to  the  higher  confidence  of  faith. 

This  illustrates  the  law  I  tried  to  state.  There 
are  three  conceivable  conditions  of  our  thought  and 
feeling  with  reference  to  this  apparent  confusion  in 
whose  midst  we  Hve, — placid  acquiescence,  which  is 
bad,  and  vehement  questioning  and  remonstrance, 
which  is  better,  and  serene  trust  in  a  living  God, 
which  is  the  perfect  condition  of  a  human  soul.  Do 
we  keep  this  always  clear  ?  Are  we  not  constantly 
mistaking  the  first  condition  for  the  third — placid 
acquiescence  which  is  too  spiritless  to  ask  any  ques- 
tion for  the  serene  trust  which  has  found  the  answer 
for  all  its  questionings  in  God  ?  Do  we  not  often 
think  that  when  a  man  passes  on  from  the  first  con- 
dition into  the  second,  from  placid  acquiescence  into 
vehement  remonstrance,  he  is  going  backward  and 
not  forward  ?  And  yet  this  is  the  progress  by  which 
God  leads  our  souls.  There  will  be  sad  and  fearful 
moments  in  it,  in  which  it  will  seem  as  if  all  were 
lost;  but  they  will  be  only  the  tumultuous  moments 
of  spiritual  youth  which  come  between  the  unthink- 
ing placidity  of  childhood  and  the  thoughtful  seren- 
ity of  manhood.  They  are  healthy  and  natural. 
They  are  the  storms  of  spring  that  bring  the  sum- 
mer, the  revolutions  out  of  which  comes  by  and  by 
the  peace. 


202  STORM   AND   CALM. 

2.  Then  take  another  illustration.  In  the  region 
of  personal  character  the  true  relation  of  calmness 
to  disturbance  is  equally  manifest.  There  is  a  cer- 
tain typical  growth  that  hundreds  of  men  go  through 
that  brings  them  from  a  lower  out  into  a  higher  life. 
The  lowest  life  where  they  begin  is  calm  enough. 
Task  and  powers  are  in  perfect  poise.  Men  do  not 
feel  the  pressure  of  any  higher  needs  than  food  and 
drink  and  ordinary  cheap  society.  They  are  quite 
capable  of  supplying  themselves  with  these,  and  so 
they  go  placidly  along.  There  are  no  high  ambi- 
tions, and  so  no  discontents.  How  calm  those  days 
go  by !  There  is  no  murmur  in  the  sky.  The  earth 
is  solid  underfoot.  The  man  is  equal  to  all  the  tasks 
he  apprehends,  goes  regularly  to  his  business  every 
morning,  enjoys  the  dinner  that  he  honestly  pro- 
vides, is  happy  in  his  social  joys,  and  faithful  to  his 
social  duties.  Task  and  power  just  balance  each 
other  in  the  still  summery  atmosphere  of  his  con- 
tented life.  But  by  and  by  a  better  thing  has  come. 
The  spiritual  nature  is  aroused.  Something  in  that 
man  that  was  made  for  a  divine  association  is  crying 
out  for  the  divinity  that  it  was  made  for.  The  soul 
wants  God.  Is  it  a  lower  or  a  higher  state  on  which 
the  man  has  entered  when  that  which  once  satis- 
fied can  satisfy  no  longer,  when  the  man  seems  to 
be  standing  awestruck  and  fearful  before  his  own 
awakened  soul,  which  is  demanding  of  him  its  proper 
food  ?  He  offers  it  the  best  he  has,  but  it  will  not 
be  appeased.  He  spreads  before  it  all  his  social 
refinements,  all  his  prudential  moralities,  but  the 
soul  turns  off  from  them  all.     It  wants  God,  and 


STORM   AND   CALM.  203 

the  man  has  no  God  to  give  it.  That  soul  of  his 
presses  him  with  vehement  desires  that  he  cannot 
gratify.  He  cannot  satisfy  himself.  Has  the  man 
gone  up  or  down  in  leaving  his  calmness  and  coming 
into  this  disturbed,  tumultuous  region  of  spiritual 
desire  ?  This  is  the  region  that  all  the  stories  of 
conversion  are  always  trying  to  paint.  They  make 
much  of  this  phase  of  life,  and  they  are  true  to  at 
least  one  constantly  recurring  experience.  The  man 
goes  about  restlessly.  He  asks  his  friends,  he  reads 
his  Bible,  he  haunts  the  church,  to  see  if  anywhere 
there  can  be  found  the  power  that  can  match  this 
new  demand  and  so  the  lost  poise  of  his  life  be  re- 
stored. Is  it  a  higher  state  ?  We  know  it  is!  The 
man  has  left  his  old  content  behind  as  the  pine  tree 
leaves  the  clod  when  it  shoots  through  the  ground, 
and,  with  its  tense  vines  tingling  and  aching  with 
life,  goes  up  to  seek  the  sky.  It  is  better,  this  spir- 
itual need  and  ache  and  struggle — better,  but  not 
the  best.  By  and  by,  as  all  stories  of  conversion 
love  to  tell,  suddenly  or  gradually  (they  love  to 
make  it  sudden  in  order  that  its  divineness  may  be 
the  more  picturesquely  evident),  there  comes  into 
the  man  the  power  of  God  to  satisfy  this  soul's  in- 
exorable craving.  He  offers  Himself  to  the  soul 
that  He  has  made.  He  will  forgive  it ;  He  will  sup- 
ply it;  He  will  teach  it;  He  will  give  it  Himself  to 
love.  Words  of  the  richest  meaning,  figures  teem- 
ing with  the  sweetest  suggestiveness  of  peace,  have 
been  sought  everywhere  and  heaped  together  to 
utter  the  new  calmness  of  this  higher  life  on  which 
the  soul  enters  when  the  soul  has  thus  found  its 


204  STORM   AND   CALM. 

satisfaction.  Tumult  is  past.  Danger  is  all  forgot- 
ten. Responsibility  is  no  longer  heavy.  All  is 
serenity  in  that  high  region  where  the  human  life 
abides  with  God,  identifies  its  life  with  His  and 
shares  in  His  peace. 

Again,  see  how  in  the  growth  of  character  this 
law  of  ours  has  found  another  illustration.  Out  of 
calmness  that  it  may  enter  into  a  sublime  calm. 
Losing  his  life  that  he  may  find  it  more  abundantly, 
that  is  the  progress  through  which  the  man  passes 
who  is  worthy  of  it.  Again  we  have  the  three 
conditions — the  indifference,  the  struggle,  and  the 
reconciliation — the  worldling,  the  seeker,  and  the 
saint.  The  unrest  of  the  second  is  better  than  the 
calmness  of  the  first,  and  both  are  only  preparatory 
for  the  complete  rest  which  remaineth  only  for  the 
people  of  God. 

3.  I  venture  upon  one  more  illustration  because  it 
is  one  in  which  I  feel  a  very  deep  interest,  but  I  will 
give  it  to  you  very  briefly.  I  think  that  the  history 
of  very  many  of  us,  with  reference  to  religious  belief, 
is  described  under  the  law  of  progress  which  we  are 
dealing  with  this  morning.  How  many  of  us  began 
with  an  easy  implicit  faith  in  the  religious  truths 
which  we  were  taught  ?  We  conceived  them  nar- 
rowly and  grasped  and  held  them  with  no  difficulty. 
We  were  quite  at  rest.  We  knew  what  was  true; 
we  were  able  to  believe  all  that  demanded  our  belief; 
we  were  perfectly  placid  in  our  traditional  religion. 
But  by  and  by  with  many  of  us  came  a  time  of  pain- 
ful, terrible  dislodgment.  The  truths  which  we  had 
held  so  easily  rose,   grew,   became  too  great,  too 


STORM   AND   CALM.  20$ 

awfully  important  for  us  to  hold  with  hands  like 
those.  Then  doubt  came.  Could  we  say  that  we 
believed  what  seemed  slipping  away  from  us  so  ?  It 
may  have  been  that  the  truths  seemed  incredible;  it 
may  have  been  that  we  seemed  to  ourselves  merely 
too  poor  and  small  to  have  anything  whatever  to  do 
with  truths  like  those  ;  at  any  rate  doubt  came.  To 
those  of  us  who  can  look  back  on  such  a  time  as 
something  past,  how  does  it  seem  now  ?  Was  it  not 
better  that  such  thoughts  came  to  us  ?  Was  it  not 
God  who  sent  them,  or,  at  any  rate,  was  it  not  God 
who  made  us  such  that  they  must  spring  up  in  our 
minds  when  we  came  to  think  as  He  had  made  us 
to  ?  And  then,  if  afterwards  we  have  been  led  on, 
as  we  believe,  until  in  deeper  personal  sympathy 
with  God  through  Jesus  we  are  able  to  lay  intenser 
hold  upon  the  real  spiritual  essence  of  our  faith  than 
we  ever  could  lay  on  its  formal  statement,  shall  we 
not  thank  God  that  He  led  us  up  to  the  better  land 
even  through  tangled  and  dark  woods  that  covered 
pathlessly  the  mountain  side  ?  Again,  we  have  the 
three  conditions — traditional  acceptance,  hesitation,  v/ 
spiritual  faith.  The  dogmatist,  the  doubter,  the 
believer.  It  is  a  going  forward  and  not  a  going 
back  when  God  leads  us  from  the  first  into  the  sec- 
ond. Our  care  should  be  that,  having  come  thus 
far,  we  may  go  on  and  not  return.  It  is  easy  to  slip 
back  from  doubt  to  dogmatism,  and  think  that  we 
are  marching  forward  into  faith.  Let  us  beware  of 
that,  for  the  broad  mountain  top  with  its  sunlight 
and  free  air  is  possible  to  all  of  us  if  we  choose  to 
struggle  on  and  reach  it. 


206  STORM   AND   CALM. 

Like  the  disciples  pulling  calmly  on  and  thinking 
they  could  cross  the  lake,  the  Christ  in  their  boat 
lying  asleep,  is  the  mere  dogmatism  that  rests  in 
its  own  sufficient  grasp  of  the  truths  of  our  religion. 
Like  the  disciples  all  helpless  with  fright  in  the 
storm,  and  expecting  to  perish  before  they  reached 
the  shore,  is  the  doubt  which  finds  how  helpless  its 
own  self-confident  belief  has  been.  Like  the  disci- 
ples, with  their  Lord  awake  again,  sailing  over  the 
smooth  waters  into  port  is  the  faith  that  has  come 
from  personal  apprehension  of  Christ.  No  religious 
calm  is  safe  in  which  the  personal  Christ  sleeps  and 
we  think  that  we  can  do  without  Him.  It  is  a 
blessed  storm,  however  hard  it  blows,  that  makes  us 
wake  Him.  It  is  a  blessed  doubt  that  does  for  us, 
what  doubt  has  done  for  so  many,  driven  them  from 
holding  truths  to  hold  the  truth,  from  believing 
Christianity  to  believing  Christ. 

I  hope  that  these  illustrations  have  given  us  some 
idea  of  what  the  place  and  value  of  calmness  really 
is,  of  when  and  where  it  is  desirable,  of  how  there 
are  many  portions  of  our  lives  in  which  it  needs  to 
be  broken  up  in  order  that  we  may  go  on  to  a  calm- 
ness that  is  higher. 

I  think  some  things  must  have  become  apparent 
which  it  is  well  for  us  to  notice.     These  are : 

That  calmness  being  a  true  proportion  between 
tasks  and  powers,  it  is  a  thing  of  absolute  fact  and 
not  of  mere  emotion.  It  is  not  the  way  we  feel 
about  things  but  the  way  things  are.  And  yet  we 
are  always  making  calmness  a  mere  word  of  feeling. 


STORM   AND   CALM.  207 

There  may  be  no  peace  in  our  lives  and  we  go  about 
still  crying,  peace,  peace.  There  may  sometimes, 
on  the  other  hand,  be  the  profoundest  peace  below 
and  yet  strange  unrest  on  the  surface.  Who  of  us 
does  not  know  men  whose  tasks  and  powers  are  in- 
deed truly  mated,  and  are  doing  their  work  smoothly 
and  well,  who  are  yet  always  dissatisfied  ;  and  others, 
only  too  many  of  them,  who  seem  calm  as  a  sum- 
mer's morning  while  all  their  life  is  at  loose  ends 
and  fluttering  with  confusion  ? 

And,  then,  from  this  it  seems  to  follow  that  since 
calmness  is  not  a  thing  of  mere  surface  emotion,  but 
must  go  down  to  the  deepest  condition  of  our  lives, 
it  can  come  not  from  any  mere  smoothing  of  the 
ruffled  surface  which  we  ourselves  could  do,  but  only 
from  that  harmonizing  of  the  disturbed  spiritual  ele- 
ments on  which  God  must  work.  We  cannot  say, 
just,  "  Go  to  now,  I  will  be  calm."  We  must  cry 
with  Paul,  "  Now  the  Lord  of  peace  give  us  peace 
by  all  means." 

And  still  from  this  it  seems  to  follow  that  no  per- 
fection of  highest  inner  and  outer  calmness,  no 
heaven  here  or  hereafter  is  impossible  for  any  poor 
vexed  soul,  or  for  the  poor  vexed  world,  since  into 
the  hands  of  Omnipotence  has  fallen  back  that  task 
which  man  has  struggled  at  in  vain ;  and  the  calm- 
ness, the  heaven  which  we  cannot  make  for  our- 
selves, we  may  take  out  of  the  free  gift  of  His  love. 

When  in  the  midst  of  all  the  restlessness  of 
earthly  life  we  talk  of  calmness  our  thoughts  go 
forth  to  God.     We  think  of  Him  as  infinitely,  eter- 


2o8  STORM  AND  CALM. 

nally  calm.  No  passion  sweeps  its  cloud  across  His 
life.  He  is  above,  where  indignation  and  impa- 
tience never  reach.  What  do  we  think  of  as  the 
meaning — what  is  the  root  and  reason  of  His  calm- 
ness ?  Is  it  not  this — the  perfect  poise  of  task  and 
power?  It  is  infinity  meeting  infinity;  the  infinite 
duty  and  the  infinite  ability;  no  over-plus  of  task 
awaiting  its  power;  no  unused  power  that  cannot 
find  its  task.  In  all  that  is  included  in  the  deep 
Scripture  phrase  which  says  that  man  was  made  in 
God's  image,  I  can  see  nothing  deeper  or  more 
beautiful  than  this — the  intimation  which  I  find 
there  that  for  man  also  such  a  state  is  possible ;  in 
him,  too,  there  may  be  this  perfect  poise  of  task  and 
power,  and  so  he  may  be  as  calm  as  God.  There  is 
a  perfect  state  conceivable  for  our  humanity,  in 
which  there  shall  be  no  disturbing  element,  and  yet 
none  of  the  danger  of  stagnation  that  results  from 
being  undisturbed.  We  may  be  free  from  indigna- 
tion, and  yet  never  fall  into  feeble  tolerance.  We 
may  be  above  doubt  and  yet  hold  vigorously  every 
truth.  We  may  be  free  from  passion  and  yet  full 
of  feeling, — without  haste,  without  rest,  and  yet 
abounding  in  life  and  work.  The  picture  of  such  a 
condition  of  humanity  as  the  first  idea  of  God,  is 
kept  in  the  sweet  story  of  the  garden  where  the  man 
and  woman  lived  in  the  peaceful  sunshine  of  the 
earliest  days ;  and  it  renews  itself  in  the  other  garden 
where  the  redeemed  are  to  walk  in  white  garments 
by  the  river  of  the  water  of  life,  with  the  Lamb  who 
has  brought  them  back  to  Himself — calmness  at  the 
end  as  at  the  beginning  of  the  book  of  life. 


STORM   AND   CALM.  209 

And  how  is  it  in  this  middle  life  that  lies  between 
the  paradises  ?  I  think  there  can  be  no  clearer  indica- 
tion of  what  a  mingled  life  of  calm  and  excitement 
this  present  human  life  of  ours  is  meant  to  be  than 
in  the  life  which  the  Son  of  Man  lived  when  He  was 
representing  to  us  all  the  very  pattern  of  a  human 
life.  Look  at  the  Incarnation.  That  there  was  un- 
derneath, in  the  deep  soul  of  Jesus,  a  strong  abiding 
calm  we  verily  believe  ;  that  many  of  the  things  that 
trouble  us  passed  by  and  left  Him  unmoved  we  may 
be  sure ;  but  who  that  reads  the  Bible  does  not  feel 
thankful  that  that  perfect  human  life  of  Jesus  was 
not  one  unbroken,  placid,  emotionless  monotony  ? 
Who  does  not  rejoice  that  his  divine  Master  could 
be  manlikely  indignant  ?  Who  does  not  glory  in 
those  burning  words  of  hot  impatience  with  which 
Jesus  showed  that  He  could  not  abide  the  meanness 
of  canting  Pharisees  and  sophist  Sadducees  ?  Who 
has  not  heard  the  whip  of  small  cords  sing  through 
the  close  air  of  the  superstitious  temple  and  clear 
the  atmosphere  as  thunder  does  ?  Who  has  not 
been  led  into  new  thoughts  of  manly  life  by  hearing 
Jesus  rebuke  Chorazin  and  Bethsaida,  as  well  as  by 
hearing  Him  console  and  forgive  the  adulteress  ? 
We  must  not  let  these  scenes  go  out  of  the  life  of 
Jesus.  If  we  do  we  shall  forget  to  be  indignant 
with  meanness  and  oppression.  We  must  not  let 
them  go  and  set  up  a  colorless  Christ  to  copy,  or 
our  lives  will  grow  pale  and  wretched.  No,  my  dear 
friends,  the  world  may  come,  is  surely  coming  where 
we  shall  be  capable  of  indignation  that  is  not  fiery 
and  scorn  that  does  not  burn.    But  with  the  pattern 


210  STORM   AND   CALM. 

of  the  man  of  Nazareth  to  copy,  that  is  not  what  we 
are  to  look  for  now.  I  complain  of  our  present 
state,  not  that  we  are  too  restless  and  excited,  but 
that  we  are  restless  and  excited  about  the  wrong 
things.  I  complain  not  that  we  are  not  calm 
enough,  but  that  our  calm  and  our  excitement  do 
not  know  their  places.  We  fret  if  a  trifle  is  wrong 
about  our  dinner,  if  a  rival  gets  before  us  in  the 
hunt  for  notoriety,  if  a  companion  does  not  pay  us 
what  we  think  the  due  respect ;  and  we  are  calm  as 
statues  and  smile  on  in  perfect  satisfaction  while  the 
laws  of  God  are  violated  and  the  poor  are  wronged 
right  by  our  side.  We  worry  if  we  violated  an  eti- 
quette yesterday,  and  let  the  sins  of  yesterday  go 
unrepented.  We  are  indignant  with  other  men's 
vices  and  tolerant  about  our  own.  Our  storms  blow 
in  the  wrong  places.  Our  calms  come  just  where 
we  need  the  healthy  fury  of  a  storm.  We  want  to 
pray  not,  "  Lord,  take  away  the  power  of  excite- 
ment," but  "  Lord,  let  our  excitement  like  Christ's 
be  always  true  and  timely — let  it  glow  against  all 
meanness  and  all  sin,  especially  our  own.  And  let 
every  passion  prepare  us  for  a  higher  calm!  " 

I  think  what  I  have  said  to-day  is  true  and  most 
important,  and  yet,  now  as  I  look  back  upon  our 
text  and  all  the  story  out  of  which  it  comes,  I  fear 
that  I  have  not  said  what  you  expected,  what  you 
had  a  right  to  expect  that  I  would  say  when  I  an- 
nounced it.  I  can  fancy,  I  am  sure,  that  there  must 
have  been  some,  who,  conscious  of  perplexed  and 
bewildered  lives,  hungered  to  hear  something  of  how 


STORM  AND   CALM.  211 

the  soothing  calm  which  they  were  longing  for  could 
come.  They  wanted  rest.  How  should  they  get 
it  ?  I  have  not  seemed  to  speak  especially  to  them, 
and  yet  in  what  I  have  said  there  is  the  answer  to 
their  question.  You  want  peace  and  relief.  Well, 
there  is  only  one  worthy  principle  by  which  to  hope 
for  it.  Peace  must  come  to  you  not  by  the  lifting 
off  of  the  burden,  but  by  the  pouring  in  of  the 
strength  that  shall  make  you  able  to  bear  your  bur- 
den. That  is  the  only  true  and  brave  man's  peace. 
Is  it  bereavement  that  is  troubling  you  ?  The  calm 
must  come  back  to  you  not  by  the  restored  presence 
of  your  dead  friend,  but  by  the  new  presence 
of  Christ,  who  brings  with  Him  in  His  spiritual 
access  the  spiritual  companionship  of  all  of  ours  who 
have  gone  to  Him.  Is  it  your  sin  ?  Only  Christ 
the  forgiver  can  give  you  peace.  Is  it  your  friend- 
lessness  ?  Only  the  friend  of  the  friendless  can  help 
you.  Is  it  your  felt  ignorance  ?  Only  the  wisdom 
of  God  can  hush  or  comfort  you.  Everywhere  the 
calmness  that  we  look  for,  all  the  calmness  that  we 
have  a  right  to.  He  will  give  us.  And  if  we  all 
knew  how  near  He  was  to  us  and  how  ready,  who 
need  go  on  perplexed,  excited  ?  Look  back  at  those 
disciples  upon  Galilee.  The  boat  goes  tossing  and 
filling,  but  why  do  they  not  call  Jesus  ?  They  think 
they  can  sail  it  safely  home  themselves  without 
Him.  If  they  keep  on  so  too  long  their  boat  and 
they  will  go  down  into  the  foaming  waters.  But  no ! 
At  last,  see,  they  have  found  out  their  weakness. 
They  are  turning  to  Him,  — "  Lord,  save,  we 
perish."     How  readily  He  wakes!     How  mightily 


212  STORM   AND   CALM. 

He  speaks!  How  graciously  and  perfectly  into  the 
souls  that  have  come  to  Him  for  the  power  to 
match  the  tasks  of  life  there  comes  the  great  calm, 
the  peace  that  passeth  understanding. 


XIII. 

THE   BLESSING   OF   THE   LORD. 

"  The  blessing  of  the  Lord,  it  maketh  rich  and  He  addeth  no 
sorrow  with  it." — Proverbs  x.  22. 

There  is  always  a  peculiar  feeling  in  our  minds 
when  we  listen  to  Solomon  talking  about  happiness. 
We  are  sure  that  he  knows  what  he  is  telling  us 
about  when  he  declares  where  happiness  is  not  to  be 
found.  A  man  of  such  exuberant  and  enterprising 
life  as  few  men  have,  he  had  determined  to  be  hap- 
py, and  the  result  had  been  a  most  unhappy  story. 
Much  that  was  bright  and  pleasant  he  had  found, 
but  yet  the  sum  of  life  for  him  was  vanity.  All  the 
time  he  had  been  haunted  by  the  knowledge  that 
there  was  something  better  which  he  might  have  if 
he  would.  It  is  out  of  all  this  experience  that  he 
bursts  forth  with  this  proverb,  "  The  blessing  of  the 
Lord,  it  maketh  rich." 

You  can  see  where  the  pathos  of  the  proverb  lies 
as  Solomon  utters  it.  It  is  in  those  last  words, 
"  He  addeth  no  sorrow  with  it."  Plenty  of  riches 
Solomon  had  found,  but  always  there  had  been  a 
sorrow  with  it.  The  charm,  the  glory  of  the  riches 
which  the  blessing  of  the  Lord  should  give  was  that 
there  was  no  sorrow  in  it.     There  is  where  lies  the 

3x3 


214  THE   BLESSING  OF  THE  LORD. 

deepest  feeling  of  the  verse,  in  those  quiet  words  at 
the  end  which  are  Hke  a  deep  pool  in  which  a  run- 
ning stream  gathers  its  stillest  and  profoundest 
waters.  And  it  is  with  special  reference  to  these 
words  that  I  want  to  speak  about  the  verse  to-day. 

For  we  all  have  enough  of  the  great  king's  experi- 
ence to  understand  him ;  we  have  all  felt  the  trouble 
in  life  which  he  felt.  It  is  not  that  the  world  has 
not  its  blessings  which  bring  their  riches  to  us,  but 
that  every  kind  of  riches  comes  dogged  with  its  own 
kind  of  sorrow.  Still  the  riches  is  attractive  enough 
to  make  us  seek  it,  to  spend  our  lives,  to  give  away 
our  lives  in  seeking  it  perhaps ;  but  always  the  feet 
are  hindered  in  running  to  it,  the  hands  that  we 
have  stretched  out  to  it  hesitate  and  are  almost 
drawn  back  just  as  they  are  on  the  point  of  grasping 
it,  because  we  know  that  with  the  joy  we  certainly 
must  take  a  sorrow.  "  No  rose  without  its  thorn  " 
sings  the  old,  threadbare  proverb,  and  if  we  think  of 
it  there  is  something  deeply  pathetic  in  the  fact  that 
such  a  proverb  as  that  should  have  grown  thread- 
bare in  the  hands  of  men.  The  experience  which  is 
embodied  in  that  proverb  looks  out  from  history  to 
greet  each  new  generation  of  men  as  it  grows  up, 
like  a  solemn,  sad  face  painted  years  ago  out  of  the 
soul  of  some  great  master  on  the  walls  of  the  mar- 
ket-place of  some  Italian  town,  in  sight  of  which  all 
the  people  of  that  town  have  grown  up  from  boys 
and  girls  to  men  and  women  for  centuries.  We  can 
see  the  power  of  that  experience  everywhere.  All 
human  life  in  its  perpetual  pursuits  is  full  of  eager- 
ness which  yet  is  very  seldom  hearty  and  f  uU-souled, 


THE   BLESSING   OF   THE   LORD.  21 5 

but  trembles  with  a  hesitation  which,  while  it  does 
not  make  men  cease  to  seek  the  prizes  of  the  world, 
weakens  their  heart  and  chills  their  enthusiasm  in 
their  struggles. 

Think  how  this  consciousness  appears  in  several  of 
the  kinds  of  wealth  which  the  world  offers.  First 
there  is  literal  riches,  the  actual  money  which  men 
seek  so  earnestly.  It  comes — sometimes  it  comes 
abundantly — but  how  rarely  it  comes  without  sor- 
row !  How  often  the  man  has  had  to  soil  his  con- 
science a  little  in  order  to  secure  it ;  or,  if  there  is 
not  that,  how  immediately  the  fear  of  losing  it  be- 
gins to  beset  the  joy  of  having  it, — how  the  simplic- 
ity of  life  grows  complicated  with  many  cares,  how 
the  fear  lest  men  shall  not  recognize  our  wealth  and 
do  us  honor  haunts  a  vast  number  of  the  rich  men's 
hearts,  how  the  jealousy  of  other  men's  wealth 
comes  in  with  the  possession  of  our  own,  and  how, 
to  men  of  too  high  a  nature  for  these  lower  sorrows 
to  affect,  the  limitations  of  the  wealth  which  they 
have  won,  its  powerlessness  to  create  moral  charac- 
ter, to  make  men  good,  seems  to  make  its  posses- 
sion a  worthless  and  unsatisfying  thing.  These  are 
the  sorrows  that  the  world  gives  when  it  gives 
wealth.  There  is  no  need  of  any  vulgar  abuse  of 
money  or  any  foolish  denial  of  the  privileges  that 
it  gives.  Only  this  is  as  sure  as  is  the  happiness 
that  it  brings,  that  with  the  happiness  comes  sorrow. 

And  so  it  is  with  a  far  better  thing  than  money, 
so  it  is  with  learning.  There,  too,  are  the  two  great 
hindrances,  the  two  great  sorrows  that  come  with 
increasing  knowledge  and  haunt  the  scholar's  study. 


2l6  THE   BLESSING  OF  THE   LORD. 

— first,  the  sense  of  limitation,  the  vast  outlying 
region  of  that  which  knowledge  cannot  do.  Neither 
can  knowledge  any  more  than  money  make  men 
good  or  noble.  And,  second,  the  pestilence  of  jeal- 
ousy, the  fear  or  the  dislike  of  other  men  who  have 
learned  more  than  we  have,  or  whose  learning  has 
carried  them  to  different  conclusions  from  those  that 
we  have  reached.  These  are  the  two  spectres  that 
haunt  all  man's  gaining  of  knowledge,  the  sense  of 
incompleteness  and  the  jealousy  that  comes  of 
selfishness. 

The  same  is  true  of  social  influence  and  fellow- 
men's  esteem.  It,  too,  brings  its  sorrows  with  it. 
You  win  the  place  that  you  have  sought  for  in  your 
brethren's  regard,  and  immediately  the  knowledge 
of  how  slight  your  influence  is  and  the  fear  that  the 
fickle  will  of  those  you  touch  may  turn  them  any 
day  from  your  influence  to  some  other  which  is 
wholly  different,  gathers  round  you  and  will  not  let 
you  enjoy  your  coveted  popularity  in  peace.  And 
so  of  fame.  It  is  all  full  of  spots  of  defamation,  and 
a  hundred  hands  are  eager  to  pull  down  the  idol  of 
the  hour  from  his  pedestal.  So  even  of  friendship, 
the  choicest  and  purest  of  earth's  treasures.  The 
earth  gives  you  your  friend  and  thenceforth  all  your 
life  is  bright  with  a  new  brightness ;  but  the  earth 
gives  you  sorrow  with  your  friend.  The  insuffi- 
ciency of  the  best  hfe  to  satisfy  any  other  life,  the 
pain  with  which  you  take  your  friend's  weaknesses 
and  faults,  as  it  were,  as  an  addition  to  your  own, 
the  suspicion  and  jealousy  with  which  you  watch  the 
answering  love,  the  constant  dread  of  the  great  break 


THE   BLESSING   OF  THE   LORD.  217 

of  death  which  is  not  wholly  dreadful  for  any  man 
until  he  dreads  it  not  merely  for  the  mysterious  pain 
that  it  will  bring  himself,  but  for  the  woe  that  it  will 
bring  to  some  one  who  is  dearer  to  him  than  him- 
self,— all  these  are  the  sorrows  that  the  earth  gives 
a  man  always  with  one  hand  when  with  the  other 
she  holds  out  to  him  the  most  precious  thing  she 
has  to  give,  a  friend. 

We  dwell  upon  these  various  particulars  and  we 
see  the  mysterious  mixture  everywhere.  But  perhaps 
it  is  not  by  dwelling  on  particulars,  but  by  stand- 
ing with  a  sensitive  and  sympathetic  nature  in  the 
midst  of  the  great  general  tumult  of  human  life,  and 
letting  it  express  itself  upon  us,  that  we  get  most  viv- 
idly the  impression  of  this  truth  of  how  sorrow  comes 
like  a  shadow  behind — or  perhaps  rather  like  a  subtle 
and  spiritual  essence  in — all  the  good  things  that  the 
world  has  to  give  us.  What  is  the  great  feeling  of 
men  about  human  life  ?  Here  is  the  great  tireless 
struggle  to  keep  alive,  the  deep  and  universal  dread 
of  dying,  the  determination  that  they  will  not  die. 
Here  are  men  revelling  in  life,  finding  the  sun  dear 
every  morning,  turning  to  recruit  their  living  powers 
with  new  strength  every  night.  Here  are  men 
standing  beside  the  grave  of  their  brother  who  has 
died,  and  pitying  him.  And  then  in  the  midst  of  all 
this  some  voice  breaks  out,  more  or  less  earnestly, 
in  an  article  in  a  review,  and  asks,  "  Is  life  worth 
living?"  and  instantly  you  see  that  the  question 
has  touched  some  latent  and  unowned  misgiving, 
has  often  stirred  the  deepest  suspicions  in  just  the 
lives  that  seemed  the  happiest  and  fullest.     What 


2I8  THE  BLESSING  OF  THE   LORD. 

does  it  mean  ?  Is  it  not  simply  this — the  deep  abid- 
ing conviction  that  Hfe  is  good,  and  yet  the  perpetual 
conviction,  growing  out  of  long  experience,  that  the 
good  life  will  always  bring  sorrow  in  its  hand  ?  The 
bright  and  hopeful  souls  trust,  in  the  face  of  a  thou- 
sand disappointments,  that  the  bliss  will  shed  the 
sorrow  and  shine  out  clear  and  serene ;  the  souls 
that  are  less  sanguine  go  on  thinking  that,  on  the 
whole,  life  is  well  worth  taking  even  with  its  inevi- 
table pain ;  but  all  alike  keep  underneath  a  sense  of 
joy  in  living,  an  expectation  of  disappointment  and 
alloy  which  is  always  present  and  which  is  constantly 
finding  itself  an  utterance. 

We  talk  of  all  this,  but  I  think  that  Solomon 
knew  it  all  better  than  any  of  us.  He  had  tried  life 
on  every  side.  He  was  no  secluded  saint  who  had 
lived  above  temptation — that  unfound  being  at 
whom  men  of  the  world  are  always  sneering,  when, 
instead  of  that,  if  they  could  find  him  they  ought  to 
stand  before  him  in  reverence,  with  the  shoes  off 
their  feet — Solomon  was  not  that.  He  was  a  man 
who  knew  what  the  world  could  give  and  how  its 
gifts  came  always  backed  and  haunted  by  a  sorrow. 
And  then  came  the  words  of  his  proverb.  He  knew 
something  else.  He  knew  what  God  could  give. 
He  knew  how  God's  gifts  differed  from  the  world's 
gifts.  "  The  blessing  of  the  Lord  it  maketh  rich 
and  He  addeth  no  sorrow  with  it."  Do  we  not  see 
now  how  much  these  words  contain  ?  It  is  the 
purity,  the  freedom  from  mixture  and  alloy,  the 
absoluteness  and  simplicity  of  God's  blessings,  that 
seems  beautiful  and  precious  to  him.    And  oh,  how 


THE   BLESSING   OF   THE   LORD.  219 

often  that  is  what  seems  so  precious  and  beautiful 
to  us !  Not  to  be  very  rich,  but  to  hold  what  wealth 
I  have  so  purely  that  it  shall  do  nothing  but  good  to 
me  or  to  my  brethren  ;  not  to  sweep  across  the  world 
with  my  influence,  but  so  far  as  it  does  reach,  in  the 
little  circle  which  it  does  cover,  to  have  it  an  influ- 
ence absolutely  for  blessing  and  not  a  curse  to  any 
man, — that  is  the  kind  of  desire  which  I  think  grows 
strongest  in  the  true  man's  heart.  Not  greatness, 
but  purity;  not  a  vast  range,  but  a  complete  sin- 
cerity,— these  are  what  we  want.  And  when  Solo- 
mon says  that  these  come  only  by  God's  gift,  I  think 
there  are  two  different  regions  in  which  we  can  con- 
sider the  truth  of  what  he  says.  First,  there  are  the 
things  which  men  take  from  the  world,  and  find 
to  be  haunted  by  sorrow.  These  same  things,  taken 
from  God's  hand,  are  robbed  of  their  sorrow  and 
become  sources  of  pure  joy.  Second,  there  are  the 
things  which  the  world  cannot  give  at  all,  which  God 
must  give  and  which,  therefore,  must  bring  only 
happiness.     Let  us  look  at  both. 

It  would  be  easy  to  run  once  more  through  the 
different  kinds  of  riches  which  I  specified,  and  see 
how  each  drops  the  element  of  pain  which  we  saw  in 
it  the  moment  that  it  is  taken  as  God's  gift.  Think 
of  mere  money.  If  I  learn  to  hold  it  as  God's  stew- 
ard, what  has  become  of  the  trouble  that  it  used  to 
bring  me  when  I  thought  that  I  had  won  it  by  my 
shrewdness  and  must  hold  it  by  my  strength  ?  I 
cannot  be  haunted  by  the  fear  of  losing  it !  May 
not  He  take  it  away  who  gave  it  to  me  ?  I  cannot 
be  anxious  to  display  it!     It  is  really  His,  not  mine^ 


220  THE  BLESSING  OF  THE   LORD. 

and  He  will  let  it  be  seen  as  He  thinks  best.  I  Citn- 
not  be  jealous  of  my  neighbor  who  has  a  little  more 
than  I  have!  It  is  only  that  God  distributes  His 
gifts  among  His  children  as  seems  best  to  Him. 
There  is  nothing  left,  no  sorrow,  no  anxiety  except 
only  this  deep  anxiety  that  I  may  use  the  wealth 
that  He  has  given  me  as  He,  the  Giver,  would  have 
wished;  and  that  anxiety  His  constant  presence  is 
always  making  a  joy  because  it  keeps  me  in  per- 
petual sympathy  and  consultation  with  Him.  When 
we  think  of  the  dignity  of  that  conception  of  the 
rich  man's  life,  how  vulgar  all  the  ordinary  ways  in 
which  our  rich  men  live  appear.  And  so  of  learn- 
ing. If  it  be  God's  message  and  not  my  discovery, 
there,  too,  the  discontents  and  jealousies  which 
haunted  it  are  gone.  The  incompleteness  of  it  only 
carries  my  thought  and  heart  up  to  the  dear  hand  in 
which  the  part  that  is  withheld  from  me  is  kept. 
And  the  rivalry  of  my  fellow-student  is  only  as  if 
two  brothers  stood  at  different  points  to  hear  what 
their  father  spoke  to  both  of  them,  and  yet  were 
near  enough  to  speak  across  to  one  another,  and 
what  each  heard  became  the  portion  of  the  other, 
and  out  of  the  united  hearing  of  the  two  their 
knowledge  of  his  will  was  gathered.  Still  more  of 
friendship,  that  which  I  called  the  most  precious  gift 
of  man.  What  many  and  many  a  friendship  needs 
to  clarify  it,  to  take  out  the  suspiciousness,  the  jeal- 
ousy, the  fretful  sense  of  limitation  that  is  in  it,  is 
the  simple  and  certain  sense  that  behind  the  choice 
which  each  friend  made  of  the  other,  God  put  the 
two  together.    That,  you  know,  is  the  consumniate 


THE   BLESSING   OF   THE   LORD.  221 

sacredness  of  marriage,  the  safeguard  of  its  purity, 
the  warrant  of  its  permanence.  And  what  your 
friendship  with  your  friend  needs  to  have  put  into 
it  is  the  notion  of  divine  gift.  If  it  had  that,  the 
human  friend  would  be  supplied,  as  it  were,  by  the 
abundance  of  the  divine  friend,  the  utterance  of 
whose  love  he  would  have  become. 

I  am  anxious  that  you  should  see  what  I  mean  by 
this  notion  of  taking  everything  as  God's  gift,  which 
so  robs  life  of  sorrow.  It  is  no  foolish  attempt  to 
get  rid  of  second  causes.  It  is  no  fantastic  effort  to 
make  believe  that  money  is  not  to  be  won  by  indus- 
try and  knowledge  gained  by  study  and  friends  by 
friendliness.  But  it  is  the  everlasting  feeling  of  the 
fountain  behind  the  stream.  It  is  the  sense  of  the 
first  cause  behind  the  second  cause.  Your  dinner  is 
on  your  table.  If  you  put  it  there,  and  only  you, 
then  as  you  taste  its  sweetness,  the  very  taste  sug- 
gests the  wonder  whether  you  will  always  be  able  to 
provide  a  dinner,  and  you  are  wondering  how  your 
neighbor  feeds  compared  with  you ;  or,  if  you  are  a 
nobler  man,  you  find  the  pleasure  of  the  senses 
always  suggesting  how  much  there  is  beyond  the 
senses  that  is  not  fed.  The  plentiful  food  for  the 
body  wakens  the  hunger  of  the  hungry  soul.  All 
that  is  changed,  all  those  besetting  troubles  disappear 
the  moment  that  God  spreads  your  table  for  you, 
the  moment  that  you  know  that  it  is  God  who 
spreads  your  table.  Then  it  is  like  the  manna  in 
the  desert  which  brought  to  the  Israelites  none  of 
the  sorrows  which  our  self-earned  dinner  brings  to 
us.     Every  morning  as  they  found  it  on  the  sands 


222  THE   BLESSING   OF  THE   LORD. 

they  took  and  ate  it,  not  doubting  that  to-morrow 
morning  they  should  find  it  there  again,  not  grudg- 
ing their  brother  Israehte  his  supply  who  stooped 
and  gathered  by  their  side,  and  always  led  on  to  the 
thought  of  spiritual  need  and  spiritual  mercy  as  they 
collected  the  body's  food  that  seemed  to  be  yet 
warm  from  the  almighty  hand.  Or,  if  we  dared  to 
look  yet  higher  for  our  illustration,  the  meal  which 
lies  upon  your  table  as  the  gift  of  God,  has  some- 
thing of  the  abundant  and  unmixed  joy  which  must 
belong  to  the  mystic  feast  of  heaven  of  which  the 
book  of  the  Revelation  tells,  the  marriage  supper 
of  the  Lamb.  "  Blessed  are  they  which  are  called 
to  that  marriage  supper,"  says  the  book.  They 
shall  sit  down  in  peace.  No  sign  of  doubt  or  fear 
or  sorrow  can  be  upon  their  faces  or  their  hearts. 
They  take  the  sacred  food  out  of  the  very  hand  of 
God.  For  them  the  old  proverb  of  the  king  is  per- 
fectly fulfilled,  "  The  blessing  of  the  Lord  maketh 
them  rich,  and  He  addeth  no  sorrow  with  it."  And 
an  anticipation  of  that  unmixed  joy  is  in  the  way  in 
which  every  soul  that  really  believes  in  God  takes 
the  things  of  ordinary  life  from  Him,  and  is  thrilled 
with  the  touching  of  His  hand  in  taking  them. 

The  two  elements  of  sorrow  in  the  joys  which  are 
given  to  us  in  this  world  are  imperfection  and  jeal- 
ousy. It  is  because  our  own  possession  of  them  is 
incomplete,  and  because  we  grudge  our  brethren 
their  possession  of  them, — it  is  for  these  reasons  that 
they  give  us  such  imperfect  pleasure.  The  incom- 
pleteness cannot  be  done  away  with,  cannot  be  made 
complete,  but,  coming  from  God's  hand,  it  may  be- 


THE  BLESSING  OF  THE   LORD.  223 

come  to  us  the  interpretation  of  the  way  in  which 
His  completeness  shall  be  given  to  us  just  as  fully 
as  we  can  receive  it.  The  jealousy  cannot  be  lifted 
off  by  any  assurance  that  we  and  we  alone  shall  have 
God's  richest  gifts,  but  it  may  be  drowned  and  lost 
in  a  sincere  delight  that  all  our  brethren  may  have 
them  as  well  as  we.  Our  own  possession  of  them 
may  only  make  clear  to  us  the  abundant  possibility 
of  other  men.  When  those  great  changes  come 
then  the  sting  that  lay  at  the  heart  of  our  dearest 
and  most  precious  things  is  gone ;  and  those  great 
changes  must  come  when  any  man,  given  to  God 
himself,  feels  God  giving  Himself  to  him  in  every- 
thing. 

But  we  want  to  press  on  and  speak  of  the  other 
class  of  blessings  which  come  to  us  from  God,  those 
which  come  to  us  direct  from  Him,  which  the  world 
cannot  give  to  any  man  even  as  a  second  cause. 
These  are  the  riches  of  the  soul ;  they  are  the  relig- 
ious blessings  which  surpass  all  others  until  they 
seem  to  be  the  only  valuable  things  to  the  man  who 
really  has  them.  What  are  they  ?  There  is  one 
noble  comprehensive  description  of  them  in  the  New 
Testament  which  tells  their  whole  story.  St.  John 
calls  Jesus  the  only  begotten  of  the  Father,  full  of 
grace  and  truth.  "  Grace  and  truth."  That  is 
what  God  gives  to  any  soul  which  He  makes  fully 
rich.  And  what  is  grace  ?  It  is  at  once  a  character 
and  an  action.  It  is  the  nature  of  God  passing  over 
by  an  act  of  God  to  become  character  in  us.  I  think 
that  in  this  word,  grace,  which  is  at  once  the  name 
of  a  nature  and  the  name  of  an  action,  we  have  a 


224  THE  BLESSING  OF  THE   LORD. 

very  striking  indication  of  how  perfectly  nature  and 
action  are  at  one,  are  at  perfect  harmony  in  God. 
When  I  say  grace,  I  mean  first  the  very  substance 
of  the  being  which  God  is.  When  I  say  grace,  I 
mean,  again,  the  forgiveness  which  God  in  His  mercy 
gives  man  for  his  sins.  When  I  say  grace,  finally,  I 
mean  that  new  life  in  man  which  begins  in  gratitude 
for  God's  pardon,  and  grows  on  and  up  into  greater 
and  greater  likeness  to  the  God  it  thanks.  How 
rich  and  full  the  great  word  is !  And  so  with  truth, 
religious  truth — that,  too,  if  we  follow  it  well  out  to 
its  idea,  is  not  mere  knowledge  imparted.  It  is 
God's  own  being  shed  by  love  into  the  being  of  His 
children.  "  I  am  the  truth,"  said  Jesus.  Truth, 
religious  truth,  is  light  which  is  first  a  quality  in 
the  sun,  then  an  action  reaching  all  the  way  from 
the  sun  through  space  to  earth,  and  then  a  quality 
in  the  earth  making  it  lustrous  and  sunlike.  And 
these  two  words,  grace  and  truth,  describe  the  riches 
which  God  gives  to  the  soul  on  which  He  bestows 
Himself.  Forgiveness  and  enhghtenment  !  The 
soul  of  poor  blind  Lazarus,  the  soul  of  great  and 
mighty  David,  the  soul  of  the  poor  stumbling  child, 
the  soul  of  the  great.  Christian  scholar,  the  soul  of 
the  patient  sufferer  at  perfect  peace  in  his  dark 
room,  the  soul  of  the  strong  hero  going  forth  with 
leaping  heart  to  battle  in  the  sunshine ; — just  as  soon 
as  you  fold  back  the  robe  of  accident  and  find  the 
heart  and  soul  of  what  his  Lord  has  done  for  each  of 
them,  you  find  it  still  the  same,  forgiveness  and 
enlightenment,  grace  and  truth!  The  thing  for 
which  man  searches  the  face  of  his  beloved  fellow- 


THE   BLESSING   OF  THE   LORD.  22$ 

man  most  eagerly,  throwing  his  whole  soul  into  his 
earnest  sympathizing  gaze,  is  to  see  whether  in  that 
face  he  can  discover  the  assurance  that  God  has 
given  to  that  friend  of  his  the  new  life  of  forgiveness 
and  enlightenment,  grace  and  truth.  As  the  mother 
searches  the  face  of  her  first-born  to  find  the  signs 
first  that  there  is  life  and  then  that  there  is  reason 
there,  so  does  the  man  who  knows  that  there  is  no 
real  life  without  the  forgiveness  and  enlightenment, 
the  grace  and  truth  of  God,  seek  for  them  in  his 
friend's  face,  and  refuse  to  be  satisfied  until  he  finds 
them  there.  When  he  has  found  them  he  rejoices 
over  his  friend's  new  birth. 

And  now  about  these  deepest  and  holiest  gifts  of 
God — grace  and  truth — is  that  true  which  Solomon 
wrote  about  all  His  mercies  ?  When  God  sends  these 
riches  does  He  send  no  sorrow  with  them  ?  At  once 
there  start  up,  as  we  ask  the  questions,  memories 
of  much  in  our  own  lives,  and  stories  that  other  men 
have  told  us  of  their  lives,  which  make  us  wonder 
whether  the  proverb  has  not  perhaps  exhausted  its 
truth  before  it  comes  to  this  profoundest  kind  of 
blessing.  How  is  it  with  forgiveness  ?  When  God 
sends  that,  does  He  not  send  sorrow  with  it  ?  The 
shame!  the  humbleness!  the  miserable  consciousness 
of  ingratitude !  the  hard  tearing  away  of  the  sin 
which  had  rooted  itself  into  the  deepest  places  of 
our  souls!  the  self-denials!  the  self-disgusts!  No 
sorrow!  Is  it  not  all  sorrow,  this  hard  and  bitter 
labor  of  repentance  ?  And  then  of  truth !  Does 
God  give  that  to  any  man  except  through  pain  ? 
What  shall  we  say  about  the  long  and  bitter  doubts  ? 


226  THE   BLESSING  OF  THE  LORD. 

the  horror  of  great  darkness  that  is  on  many  minds; 
the  bewilderment  among  false  lights  on  every  side 
that  distracts  others  ?  What  of  those  days  when, 
with  the  growing  certainty  that  we  cannot  live  with- 
out truth,  there  seems  to  be  likewise  a  growing  cer- 
tainty that  we  shall  never  find  it  ?  The  plucking 
out  of  old  prejudices  and  errors  which  have  come  to 
be  part  of  our  life,  the  misconceptions  of  our  breth- 
ren, the  distrust  of  ourselves,  what  shall  we  say  of 
all  of  these  ?  Has  it  not  grown  to  be  the  very  com- 
monplace of  spiritual  history  that  it  is  by  suffering 
that  God  makes  His  best  soil  ready  for  the  seed  that 
He  is  meaning  to  sow  in  it  ?  How  thick  the  ques- 
tions spring  up  as  we  think  about  it !  And  yet  to 
all  these  questions  I  think  there  are  two  answers 
to  be  given.  I  do  not  say  that  they  are  satisfactory. 
I  only  think  that  they  indicate  the  direction  in  which 
satisfaction  lies,  and  help  us  to  see  that,  in  spite  of 
all  appearances,  God  does  not,  if  we  could  see  Him 
fully,  send  us  anything  but  joy, — that  the  sorrow 
which  comes  with  His  spiritual  mercies  is  something 
which  we  add  to  them  ourselves. 

The  first  consideration  is  that  the  spiritual  treat- 
ment and  the  suffering  which  comes  with  it  are 
always  separable  in  our  thought  from  one  another. 
The  treatment  is  essential.  God  could  not  make  us 
what  it  is  of  all  importance  that  we  should  be  made 
without  it.  The  suffering  that  attends  on  the  recep- 
tion of  the  treatment  is  an  accident.  It  belongs  to 
the  condition  in  which  the  spiritual  treatment  finds 
us, — we  can  conceive  of  the  same  treatment  finding 
us  in  other  conditions  and  giving  us  nothing  but  un- 


THE   BLESSING   OF   THE   LORD.  22/ 

mixed  joy.  For  instance,  God  has  given  me  a  truth, 
which  is  to  me  a  source  of  endless  peace  and  happi- 
ness. In  order  that  it  might  completely  reach  my 
heart  that  truth  had  to  break  and  tear  its  way 
through  obstinacy  and  a  settled  faithlessness.  God 
gave  His  truth  such  force,  so  winged  it  with  His 
own  convincingness,  that  it  could  conquer  for  itself 
that  entrance,  and  in  its  victory  over  me  I  was  hurt 
and  suffered.  Now  what  shall  we  say  ?  Shall  I 
declare  that  God  sent  the  sorrow  with  the  truth. 
The  truth  was  unmixed  joy.  If  it  had  come  to  an 
open,  willing  soul  it  would  have  slid  like  a  sunbeam 
into  its  life,  instead  of  crushing  in  like  a  cannon-ball 
as  it  did  into  mine.  It  would  have  ridden  in  at  the 
gate  like  a  king  over  flowers,  instead  of  bursting  in 
like  a  soldier  through  the  broken  wall.  Can  I  say, 
then,  truly  that  God  sends  the  sorrow  which  is  an 
accident  of  the  condition  in  which  His  truth  finds 
me  ?  Can  I  lay  the  pain  on  Him  ?  Is  it  not  as  if 
His  bright  stream  struck  some  feebly  built  house  on 
the  sand,  and  swept  it  down  to  ruin  ?  I  may  say 
that  the  sorrow  started  with  the  river  where  it  sprang 
out  of  the  fountain,  and  came  hurrying  down  with 
it  through  all  its  course.  That  makes  the  river's 
gay  laughter,  as  it  crept  through  the  thickets  and 
the  fields  and  caught  the  shadows  of  the  flowers  on 
its  bosom,  a  dreadful  mockery.  May  I  not  say  more 
truly  that  the  stream  brought  no  sorrow  with  it,  but 
only  brought  out  evidently  and  sealed  with  visible 
ruin  the  sorrow  which  it  found  waiting  for  it  in  the 
disguise  of  happy  safety  on  its  bank  ? 

And  the  other  consideration  is  that  the  sorrow 


228  THE  BLESSING  OF  THE  LORD. 

which  accompanies  the  reception  of  God's  best  bless- 
ings, His  forgiveness  and  enlightenment,  His  grace 
and  truth,  shares  subtly  in  the  very  nature  of  the 
joy  that  causes  it.  It  is  not  wholly  sorrowful.  The 
pain  of  giving  up  a  dear  prejudice  to  make  place  for 
a  truth  is  radiant  already  with  the  joy  which  that 
truth  is  to  give  me.  This  sort  of  transfiguration  is 
familiar  to  all  the  best  experiences  of  the  highest 
lives.  You  and  I  may  not  understand  it,  but  all  the 
shining  moments  in  the  history  of  the  human  soul 
bear  witness  of  the  reality  that  is  in  it.  The  martyr 
stands  at  his  stake,  and  we  dare  to  pity  him ;  we  say 
"  Your  truth  and  faith  are  glorious,  but  how  sad  it 
is  that  you  could  not  have  them  without  this !"  But 
he  replies,  "  They  have  become  glorious  to  me  in 
this  as  I  could  never  have  seen  them  otherwise." 
Did  the  three  children  in  the  furnace,  with  the 
"  One  like  unto  the  Son  of  Man"  walking  beside 
them  in  the  flames,  think  that  the  flame  was  terri- 
ble ?  Except  for  it  they  could  not  have  seen  Him, 
and  so  it  was  a  portion  of  their  joy.  And  if  when 
your  forgiveness  comes  to  you  out  of  the  hand  of 
God,  the  repentance,  the  humility,  the  self-surrender 
through  which  you  take  it  make  it  far  dearer  and 
more  beautiful  and  precious  to  you  than  it  could 
have  been  without  that  pain ;  then  is  not  the  pain 
itself  a  pleasure,  and  does  not  the  soul,  finding  the 
heart  of  its  suffering  full  of  joy,  forget  the  mere 
rough  outside  in  which  that  heart  of  joy  is  folded, 
and  triumphantly  declare  that  when  the  Lord  sent 
His  forgiveness  He  "  sent  no  sorrow  with  it  ?  " 
I  think  that  such  considerations,  while  they  can- 


THE   BLESSING   OF  THE   LORD.  229 

not  answer  our  question  perfectly,  do  yet  show  us 
something  of  where  the  answer  to  our  question  lies. 
And  all  this  becomes  clearer  if  we  turn  from  our  poor 
attempt  to  describe  it  and  see  it  perfectly  illustrated 
in.  the  life  of  Jesus.  In  that  wonderful  life  all  that 
we  have  said  came  to  its  perfect  exhibition.  The 
blessing  of  His  Father  made  Him  rich  beyond  any 
conception  of  ours.  We  waste  poor  pity  upon  the 
poverty  of  Jesus.  There  is  something  almost  insult- 
ing in  the  way  in  which  we  dwell  upon  the  priva- 
tions of  His  earthly  lot.  He  never  dwelt  on  them 
Himself.  When  He  said  that  the  foxes  had  holes 
and  the  birds  of  the  air  had  nests  but  He  was  home- 
less, it  was  no  weak  self-pity.  It  was  no  appeal  for 
sympathy.  It  was  the  simple  fact  of  His  life  told 
to  a  scribe  who  had  offered  to  follow  Him, — told  in 
order  that  the  soul  of  the  new  disciple  might  be 
tested,  that  there  might  be  no  misunderstanding  nor 
mistake.  "  Alone  and  yet  not  alone,  because  the 
Father  is  with  Me," — that  is  the  way  in  which  His 
life  looked  to  Himself. 

And  now,  how  was  it  with  this  richness  that  His 
Father  gave  Him — did  He,  as  our  old  proverb 
promises,  "  add  no  sorrow  with  it  "  ?  Sorrow 
enough  there  certainly  was.  The  outward  pain  and 
inward  struggle  have  been  ever  since  the  wonder  of 
the  world.  He  was  the  man  of  sorrows.  The 
suffering  of  the  body  culminating  in  the  agony  of 
the  Cross,  the  wounds  of  ingratitude,  the  wearing 
misery  of  delay  and  disappointment,  the  daily  bruis- 
ing of  the  sinless  nature  against  sin,  the  burden  of 
men's  and  women's  troubles  on  his  sympathy,  the 


230  THE  BLESSING  OF  THE   LORD. 

separation  from  His  Father — how  all  this  was  min- 
gled with  the  richness  of  His  Father's  gift,  with  the 
joy  of  His  own  holiness  and  of  the  work  that  He 
was  doing !  And  yet  I  think  that  as  we  read  the 
dear  old  story  deeply,  there  grows  up  in  our  minds 
a  conviction  that  each  of  these  truths  was  supremely 
true  about  our  Lord  which  we  have  seen  to  be  true 
also  of  His  disciples.  For  Him,  too,  the  pain  was 
separable  from  the  joy.  The  joy  was  of  His  Father's 
giving — the  sending  of  the  willing  Son  to  seek  His 
brethren.  The  pain  that  mingled  with  the  joy  was 
born  of  the  meeting  of  the  Son's  holiness  with  the 
world's  sin,  which  the  Father  did  not  make.  If  we 
can  conceive  of  an  Incarnation  which,  manifesting 
God  to  a  perfectly  sinless  and  obedient  world,  should 
have  had  no  trace  of  suffering  about  it,  should  even 
have  added  a  new  delight  to  the  already  perfect 
happiness  of  Deity, — then  we  can  see  how  separable 
in  the  soul  of  Jesus  may  have  been  the  joy  of  His 
Messiahship  from  the  suffering  which  His  Messiah- 
ship  involved ;  how,  even  in  His  greatest  agony 
upon  the  Cross,  feeling  that  God  had  given  Him  the 
privilege  of  Saviourhood  and  seeing  that  essential 
privilege  separate  itself  and  stand  apart  from  all  its 
accidents  of  woe  in  its  own  intrinsic  gladness.  He 
may  even  then  have  lifted  up  His  failing  heart  and 
cried,  "  I  thank  Thee!  Thy  blessing  has  made  me 
rich,  and  thou  hast  added  no  sorrow  with  it."  And 
when  you  add  to  that  the  other  truth,  that  in  the 
pain  itself  was  a  deep  heart  of  joy,  that  inasmuch  as 
only  by  suffering  with  them  could  He  come  close  to 
these  brethren  of  His,  and  to  come  close  to  them 


THE   BLESSING   OF   THE   LORD.  23 1 

was  His  one  longing  desire,  therefore  the  suffering 
itself  was  joy.  When  you  add  that,  then  is  there 
not  some  light  shed  through  the  everlasting  mystery, 
and  can  we  not  see  how  it  was  that  out  of  every 
darkness  the  soul  of  Jesus  always  cleared  itself  into 
the  light,  how  peace  came  after  the  temptation,  and 
after  Gethsemane,  and  the  Son  never  ceased  to 
thank  the  Father  for  His  tried  and  tortured  life. 

And  in  the  way  in  which  Christ  received  His 
Father's  gift  is  there  not,  O  my  dear  friends,  the 
constant  picture  of  the  way  in  which  we  must  receive 
Christ  ?  The  soul  that  takes  the  Lord  and  His  ser- 
vice is  sure  to  take  pain  and  distress.  Temptations 
gather  round  him  as  he  timidly  lets  the  signal  of  his 
new  faith  be  seen.  Men's  misconceptions  fill  his 
ears — above  all  and  behind  all  his  own  sins  dismay 
him  the  moment  that  he  has  set  out  to  escape  from 
his  sins  through  Christ.  But  yet  he  knows,  or  grad- 
ually learns,  that  the  Gospel  is  all  joy.  The  sorrow 
comes  not  from  what  God  is,  but  from  what  he  is. 
And  even  in  the  sorrow  there  is  hidden  a  new  joy 
because  by  it  he  may  be  more  faithful,  more  hum- 
ble, more  patient,  more  utterly  given  to  his  Lord. 
Oh,  let  me  picture  to  myself  some  poor  bewildered, 
struggling  soul  hidden  somewhere  among  these  pews 
this  morning.  It  is  a  picture  of  my  imagination 
only  because  I  do  not  know  behind  which  of  your 
faces  that  soul  sits.  But  that  such  a  soul  is  some- 
where here  is  no  imagination  of  mine  but  is  a  certain 
fact.  That  soul  has  heard  Christ's  invitation.  The 
marvellous  offer  of  the  Lord  has  won  its  way  to 
your  acceptance.     ' '  The  bread  that  I  will  give  is  my 


232  THE   BLESSING   OF   THE   LORD. 

flesh  which  I  will  give  for  your  life," — so  He  has 
spoken  and  so  you  have  heard.  You  have  taken 
Him,  and  not  for  all  the  world  would  you  let  Him 
go.  The  blessing  of  the  Lord  has  made  you  rich. 
But  then — but  then  you  hesitate.  Has  He  not 
added  sorrow  with  it  ?  Does  it  not  seem  as  if  He 
had  deliberately  made  it  hard  for  you  to  be  a  Chris- 
tian ?  Perhaps  it  is  all  right.  It  may  be  all  for  the 
best  that  it  should  be  hard,  but  surely  the  fact  is 
clear.  He  has  made  it  hard,  not  easy!  O  my 
dear  friend,  that  is  not  true!  The  hardness  has  not 
been  in  Him,  but  entirely  in  you!  In  Him  there 
has  been  nothing  but  love,  nothing  but  the  desire 
that  with  as  gentle  and  as  smooth  a  journey  as 
possible  you  should  come  to  Him.  Not  the 
Father's  hand  puts  obstacles  in  the  child's  way  to 
Him;  not  even  that  the  child  may  value  Him  the 
more  when  he  shall  find  Him,  does  He  so  obstruct 
his  path.  The  value  of  Himself,  which  the  Father 
would  have  His  prodigal  children  learn,  is  not  the 
value  that  comes  by  long  denial  of  the  prize,  but 
the  preciousness  which  the  Father's  love  wins  as  the 
child  learns  how  long  it  has  been  waiting  for  him, 
how  it  has  struggled  in  every  way  to  show  itself,  and 
how  it  has  labored  to  remove  every  hindrance  and 
give  itself  away. 

I  beg  you,  O  my  dear  friends,  to  whom  Christ  has 
come  and  who  have  come  to  Christ,  to  find  the 
deepest  preciousness  of  your  new  life  in  its  perfect 
freedom.  Do  not  expect  your  religion  to  be  hard. 
If  there  be  hardness  in  it,  count  that  hardness  to  be 
of  your  making,  not  of  God's  sending.     Be  sure  that 


THE   BLESSING   OF  THE   LORD.  233 

God  would  rather  have  you  believe  than  doubt, 
rather  have  you  hope  than  fear,  rather  have  you 
show  your  humility  by  the  complete  trust  with 
which  you  take  His  mercy  than  by  the  distressed 
perplexity  with  which  you  wonder  whether  it  is 
possible  for  you  to  take  it. 


XIV. 

JOY   AND   SORROW. 

"  Jesus  therefore  again  groaning  in  himself  cometh  to  the  grave. 
It  was  a  cave,  and  a  stone  lay  upon  it." — John  xi.  38. 

The  moment  which  this  verse  describes  was 
doubtless  one  of  the  saddest  in  the  life  of  Jesus. 
His  friend  was  dead,  and  the  Master  stood  in  the 
midst  of  the  overwhelming  sorrow  which  his  death 
had  brought.  There  was  the  pain  of  bereavement 
in  His  own  heart ;  there  was  pitiful  sympathy  with 
the  poor  sisters ;  and  there  was  also  the  clear  sight 
of  the  sadness  of  human  life.  It  was  impossible  that 
the  Son  of  Man  should  stand  in  the  close  presence 
of  this  one  sorrow,  and  not  feel  all  the  great  sea  of 
sorrows,  of  which  this  was  a  single  wave,  beating 
upon  His  heart  out  of  all  the  lands  and  all  the  ages  ! 
He  saw  the  great  cloud  of  misery  overshadowing  the 
world ;  He  heard  the  great  chorus  of  lamentation 
going  up  from  the  human  heart ;  all  this  was  in  the 
deep  groan  which  we  can  hear  to-day,  as  millions 
have  heard  it  before  us,  which  burst  from  His  lips 
as  He  went  among  the  weeping  family  to  the  tomb 
of  Lazarus  of  Bethany. 

Is  human  life  a  joyous  or  a  gloomy  thing  ?  This 
is  the  question  to  which  the  picture  of  the  Son  of 

234 


JOY   AND   SORROW.  235 

Man  in  His  sorrow  may  naturally  lead  our  thoughts. 
Strange  enough  it  is  that,  after  all  these  generations 
and  centuries  of  human  living,  men  should  still  ask 
themselves  that  question  and  differ  from  themselves 
and  from  each  other  about  its  answer.  It  is  a  very 
pathetic  sign  of  what  a  confused,  entangled  thing 
the  world's  life  is,  that  men  cannot  decide  whether 
it  is  a  melancholy  or  a  splendid  thing  to  live,  and 
that  he  whose  judgment  runs  either  way  shows  at 
once  his  eagerness  to  believe,  and  his  doubt  whether 
his  belief  is  right,  by  the  way  in  which  he  denounces 
and  almost  hates  the  man  who  judges  differently 
from  himself.  The  man  who  praises  life  detests  the 
man  who  darkens  life  with  blame ;  and  the  man  who 
blames  life  despises  him  who  praises  it.  There  is  no 
battle  Hke  the  battle  of  the  optimists  and  pessimists. 
Surely  it  must  be  a  mysterious  thing  on  whose 
essential  quality  men  who  are  always  so  intimately 
dealing  with  it  cannot  decide.  Surely  there  must 
be  some  deeper  method  of  answering  the  question 
than  that  which  depends  on  the  whim  of  the 
moment  or  the  temperament  of  the  man  who  gives 
the  answer.  Let  us  see  whether  we  can  make  any 
progress  towards  an  answer  in  our  study  of  to-day. 

Our  time  is  remarkable,  among  many  other  things, 
for  the  frequency  and  the  urgency  with  which  the 
question  whether  human  life  is  intrinsically  joyous 
or  sorrowful  is  being  asked.  That  question  has 
always  rested  on  the  heart  of  man;  it  has  always 
broken  from  his  life,  but  we  think  never  as  to-day. 
So  much  of  the  first  boyish,  unquestioning  sim- 
plicity   of    life    is    lost,    so  complicated  and  self- 


236  JOY  AND   SORROW. 

conscious  and  self-watchful  has  the  human  heart 
become,  that  it  is  not  possible  to  say  to  this  full- 
grown  human  being  as  you  might  once  have  said  to 
humanity  in  its  childhood,  "  It  is  not  right  to  ask 
the  question.  Do  your  duty  and  ask  nothing  about 
happiness."  The  question  of  happiness,  if  not  our 
own  happiness,  yet  our  brother-man's,  reaches 
everywhere.  It  infects  even  the  idea  of  duty.  It 
must  be  answered.  It  is  getting  its  answer,  wisely 
or  unwisely,  in  every  heart.  Therefore  it  is  good 
for  us  to  study. 

You  will  see  from  the  text  which  I  have  chosen 
how  I  would  approach  the  question.  It  is  through 
the  consciousness  of  Christ.  It  certainly  will  be 
much  to  us  if  we  can  know  how  the  world  looked  to 
Him,  whether  the  color  of  life  was  dark  or  bright  to 
those  clear  deep  eyes  which  looked  on  it  so  humanly 
and  so  divinely.  Who  would  not  give  anything  to 
ask  Him  if  we  could  find  Him  on  our  streets  ?  For 
all  men  who  have  seen  Him  have  felt  sure  that, 
looking  into  Him,  they  looked  into  the  very  con- 
sciousness of  God,  which  is  the  final  fact  of  things. 
The  sum  of  all  the  world's  complicated  doctrines 
concerning  Christ  is  this — that  in  Him  man  finds 
both  himself  and  the  God  to  whom  he  belongs,  and 
so  is  able  to  read  that  truth  which  exists  in  the 
essential  relation  of  the  human  life  to  the  divine. 
Therefore  it  is  that  he  who  can  learn  how  life  ap- 
pears to  Christ  will  learn  how  it  appears  to  God, 
and  how  it  really  is,  behind  all  its  appearances,  to 
man. 

It  is  good  for  us  to  verify  and  to  correct  our  own 


JOY  AND   SORROW.  237 

judgments  by  those  of  other  men,  of  larger,  wiser 
men,  and,  wherever  we  can  get  glimpses  of  it,  by 
the  judgment  of  that  universal  humanity  which  is 
wiser  than  the  wisest  of  the  human  beings  whom  it 
includes.  Not  even  that  judgment,  when  we  have 
found  it,  can  violently  dispossess  our  own  and  take 
its  place ;  but  it  may — if  we  are  broadminded  and 
true,  it  must — enrich  our  judgment  into  its  likeness, 
fulfil  us  with  itself.  This  is  what  it  does  for  me 
when  I  see  Christ's  thought,  which  is  both  human 
and  divine.  His  thought  does  not  kill  my  thought 
and  set  itself  into  its  place.  It  changes  my  thought 
into  itself.  It  turns  out  what  is  false  in  my  thought 
and  develops  what  is  true ;  and  so  I  come  to  think 
like  Christ  because  other  thought  becomes  impos- 
sible. So  let  us  seek  Christ's  thought  about  the 
happiness  and  the  unhappiness  of  human  life.  As 
soon  as  we  ask  the  question  there  comes  up  to  our 
memory,  out  of  the  Gospels  which  tell  His  story, 
two  classes  of  His  acts  and  words.  One  class  is  full 
of  the  sense  of  the  joy  of  living.  It  begins  with  the 
wonder  of  a  chorus  of  angels  welcoming  His  birth. 
It  goes  on  with  the  picture  of  a  healthy,  happy 
boyhood,  of  the  first  keen  appetite  for  knowledge, 
of  brave,  enthusiastic  young  friendships,  of  the 
chance  and  desire  to  do  good,  of  sympathetic  inter- 
course with  nature,  of  rapt  intercourse  with  God,  of 
great  visions  into  the  future,  and  at  last  of  a  com- 
plete triumph  over  death, — all  of  these  blossoming 
out  into  rich  words  of  joyousness,  of  trust,  of  hope. 
No  man  can  read  these  pages  of  the  life  of  Jesus 
and  not  know  that  life  was  joyful  and  beautiful  to 


238  JOY  AND  SORROW. 

Him.  And  at  the  same  time,  while  anybody  reads 
this  life,  he  is  all  the  time  aware  that  it  is  not  all. 
There  are  dark  passages  along  with  the  bright  ones 
everywhere.  The  songs  of  the  angels  at  His  birth 
are  lost  almost  immediately  in  the  cries  of  the  child- 
martyrs  who  are  murdered  out  of  hate  of  Him. 
Then  come  the  persecutions  and  the  misconceptions 
and  the  awful  scenes  of  sorrow,  and  the  perpetual 
appeals  of  wretchedness  for  help.  Then  comes  the 
betrayal  by  those  whom  He  had  trusted  and  the 
weakness  of  those  whom  He  would  fain  make  strong. 
There  is  the  blow  and  blank  of  death.  There  is  the 
sin  which  makes  life  worse  than  death.  All  of  these 
pressed  in  upon  a  sensitiveness  surpassing  in  ex- 
quisiteness  what  any  other  being  ever  carried.  At 
the  very  outset,  at  the  very  first  sight  this  is  clear — 
that  neither  side  of  our  human  life  had  hid  itself 
from  Jesus.  Each  side  of  it  had  pled  its  cause  before 
Him.  Its  joy  had  said,  "  Behold,  how  good  it  is  to 
live."  Its  pain  had  cried,  "Behold,  how  life  is  hor- 
rible!" Evidently  the  judgment  which  this  Jesus 
makes  must  be  made  with  the  sound  of  both  of  these 
voices,  and  must  include  the  truth  which  each  of 
them  tells.  He  cannot  be  ignorant  of  either.  He 
cannot  judge  life  as  a  pampered  weakling  who  knows 
only  its  luxury,  nor  as  an  embittered  savage  who 
has  known  nothing  but  its  pain.  They  will  both  be 
there.  His  judgment  of  life  will  be  large  enough  to 
hold  them  both. 

But  then  we  come  at  once  to  something  else. 
This  Christ,  the  more  we  think  concerning  Him, 
impresses  us  with  a  sublime  unity  of  nature.    What- 


JOY  AND   SORROW.  239 

ever  various  elements  combine  in  Him  cannot  exist 
in  conflict.  They  must  be  in  some  deeper  harmony 
with  one  another.  It  cannot  be  that  any  being  can 
permanently  live  with  two  ideas,  inconsistent  with 
each  other,  ruling  in  succession,  first  one  and  then 
the  other  holding  possession  of  the  life.  It  cannot 
be  that  now  the  thought  of  life  as  misery  and  now 
the  thought  of  life  as  happiness  should  rule — one 
holding  the  other,  its  rival,  under  foot.  Both  must 
be  always  true.  Only  one  must  be  permanently 
master,  and  the  other  must  be  always  subject. 
Which  shall  be  which  ?  Shall  life  be  wretchedness, 
with  strange,  unaccountable,  tantalizing,  exasperat- 
ing flashes  of  happiness  flung  here  and  there  upon 
its  darkness,  making  its  great  stretches  only  more 
dark  ?  Or  shall  life  be  one  great  deep  stream  of  joy, 
ever  and  anon  darkening  and  ensnarling  itself  in 
suffering,  but  always  unsnarling  and  brightening 
itself  again,  and  always  keeping  its  great  course  un- 
turned, its  great  song  unsilenced,  below  every  hin- 
drance or  discord  which  may  disturb  its  bosom  ? 

Which  of  these  two — for  one  or  other  it  must  be — 
which  of  these  two  is  Christ's  idea  of  human  life  ? 
Can  there  be  any  doubt  ?  Consider  the  very  names 
He  loves  to  bear.  He  is  Jesus.  He  is  the  Saviour. 
He  is  Christ,  the  anointed  one.  His  work  is  a  re- 
demption. What  do  those  words  mean  ?  Do  they 
not  of  necessity  involve  the  truth  that  in  behind  and 
up  above  and  down  below  all  life  there  is  one  great 
unchanged  purpose  of  good,  that  every  evil  is  a 
departure  from  that  purpose,  that  out  of  the  soul 
of  that  purpose  He  has  come,  that  to  restore  all  life 


240  JOY  AND   SORROW. 

to  that  purpose  is  the  hope  and  unchangeable  inten- 
tion of  His  soul  ?  These  are  the  first  necessary 
meanings  of  Jesus.  They  are  not  merely  the  truths 
He  teaches  but  the  truths  He  is.  It  is  in  virtue  of 
their  being  true  that  He  is  here  at  all.  What  then  ? 
The  soul  which  carries  in  itself  these  truths  has  but 
^ne  view  of  life  possible  for  it.  For  it  the  good  was 
before  the  evil,  and  will  be  after  it,  and  is  beneath 
it  all  the  time.  And  therefore  joy  and  the  certainty 
that  life  means  joy, — joy  darkened  and  puzzled  a 
thousand  times,  but  never  extinguished,  joy  always 
present  as  the  fundamental  consciousness  of  life, — is 
the  only  possible  condition  for  that  soul.  And  that 
soul  supremely  was  the  soul  of  Christ. 

This  is  what  Christ  must  have  been  by  the  neces- 
sary conditions  of  His  being.  And  this  is  what  He 
actually  was.  It  is  impossible  to  read  His  story 
with  clear  eyes  and  carry  away  any  other  picture. 
All  His  sorrow  gets  its  intensity  from  the  interrup- 
tion which  it  makes  to  His  joy.  All  His  disappoint- 
ment is  dark  by  the  shadow  which  is  cast  by  His 
inextinguishable  hope.  His  hate  of  evil  is  deep  in 
proportion  as  His  love  of  good  is  high.  He  expects 
man  to  be  happy  and  never  recovers  from  the  horror 
of  the  fact  that  man  is  sad. 

The  world  has  always  felt  this  character  in  Christ. 
It  has  said,  "  How  could  He  feel  so  ?  "  but  it  has 
never  been  able  to  doubt  or  to  deny  that  He  did 
feel  so.  One  effort  it  has  made  to  reconcile  His 
sense  that  life  was  good  with  its  own  misgivings  and 
belief  that  life  was  bad  and  sad.  It  has  imputed  to 
Him  some  notion  of  election.     It  has  tried  to  make 


JOY  AND   SORROW.  24 1 

out  that  it  was  to  some  small  select  privileged  minor- 
ity of  human  kind  that  He  promised  such  special 
blessings  as  made  it  worth  while  for  them  to  live ; 
while  to  the  great  majority  He  left  life  a  weary 
waste  of  woe,  only  touched  here  and  there  with 
mocking  and  delusive  images  of  happiness.  Men 
have  imagined  such  things  of  Jesus,  but  their  imag- 
inings have  always  failed  to  hold.  They  have  fallen 
away  from  Him,  and  left  Him,  what  by  the  neces- 
sity of  His  nature,  He  must  be, — the  life,  the  praise, 
declaring  that  life  is  good,  and  protesting  with  all 
His  soul  against  the  misery  and  evil  which  have  in- 
vaded and  infected  and  disguised  its  goodness. 

But  there  is  more  than  this.  This  would  seem 
almost  to  depict  Jesus  as  changing  constantly;  now 
mourning  over  the  world's  evil,  now  triumphing  in 
the  world's  good;  and  only  reassured  by  the  un- 
changing certainty  that  the  good  was  before  the  evil 
and  should  be  after  it,  that  God  was  stronger  than 
the  devil.  This  were  mere  dualism,  dividing  the 
world  between  two  masters,  one  stronger  than  the 
other,  but  each  certainly  sole  ruler  of  his  special 
kingdom.  More  intimate  in  the  experience  of  Jesus 
is  the  connection  of  the  sorrow  and  the  joy.  More 
perfect  is  the  unity  of  His  experience.  Not  merely 
in  the  same  Hfe  but  in  the  same  thought,  in  the  same 
deed  the  two,  the  joy  and  sadness,  are  united.  After 
such  union  they  have  always  been  struggling  in  the 
minds  of  all  serious  men.  Some  men  have  tried  to  be- 
lieve that,  after  all,  the  good  and  evil  were  but  one, 
that  in  their  essence  was  no  difference.  "  Evil  is  im- 
perfect good,  good  in  the  making,"  they  have  tried 
16 


242  JOY   AND   SORROW. 

to  say.  But  against  that  teaching  the  human  con- 
science always  has  rebelled.  And  Jesus,  whose 
conscience  always  was  as  clear  as  crystal,  never  be- 
lieved or  taught  like  that.  Two  things,  however,  He 
did  teach  regarding  the  connection  of  the  evil  and  the 
good.  One  was,  that  they  took  shape  from  the  same 
universal  circumstances  of  human  life,  and  so  that 
the  same  identical  causes  produced  sorrow  and  joy. 
It  was  the  same  perpetual  relationship  of  man  with 
man,  the  same  persistent  free  will  which  belonged 
to  the  first  idea  of  humanity,  the  same  physical  na^ 
ture  with  its  passions  and  desires,  which  gave  occa» 
sion  alike  to  the  sublimest  heroism  and  to  the  basest 
self-indulgence,  to  the  purest  of  human  pleasure  and 
the  most  exquisite  of  human  pain.  The  other  truth 
was  that  evil,  though  really  evil,  may  be  turned  in 
its  results  to  good.  By  discipline,  by  the  revelation 
which  it  brings,  pain  may  become  the  seed  of  joy, 
and  even  sin  become  the  door  to  holiness.  These 
are  profound  parts  of  the  life  and  teaching  of  the 
Lord  which  every  Christian  deeply  knows.  By 
them  these  two  discordant  portions  of  the  world  are 
brought  together.  They  must  not  be  confounded 
with  any  base  and  blundering  ideas  of  men  that 
good  and  evil  are  not  intrinsically  different,  but  only 
seem  different  in  the  thought  of  men,  or  that  evil 
may  be  done  for  the  sake  of  good  results.  There  is 
nothing  of  these  ideas  in  Jesus;  but  the  two  truths 
which  I  just  tried  to  state,  and  which  are  always  in 
His  mind,  make  joy  and  sorrow  always  parts  of  the 
one  same  world,  and  keep  them  always  in  relation  to 
each  other,  while  they  never  lose  the  inalienable 


JOY  AND   SORROW.  243 

kingship  of  good  and  the  great  right  of  joy  to  rule 
the  world. 

It  is  the  constant  presence  of  these  two  ideas,  I 
think,  in  Jesus  which  makes  the  freedom  and  direct- 
ness and  simphcity  of  all  His  dealing  with  mankind. 
He  sees  a  man  bad  and  unhappy.  He  knows  full 
well  how  large  a  part  of  that  man's  wickedness  and 
sorrow  is  bound  up  with  the  circumstances  in  which 
the  man  is  living.  He  will  set  the  reforming  power 
of  His  Gospel  at  work  to  change  those  circumstances. 
Perhaps  He  will  bid  the  man  himself  change  them 
immediately,  as  when  He  commanded  the  rich 
young  man  to  go  and  sell  his  property  and  give  it 
all  away.  But  He  knows  these  two  things:  first, 
that  the  same  eternal  causes  and  circumstances 
which  are  making  that  man  bad  and  unhappy  may, 
if  he  treat  them  rightly,  make  him  good  and  happy ; 
second,  that  out  of  the  very  heart  of  evil,  by  the 
power  of  a  new  life  in  the  man's  heart,  rich  good 
may  come.  It  is  evident  that  to  anyone  who  is  in 
the  power  of  these  two  truths,  circumstances  cannot 
be  of  the  first  importance.  It  is  good  that  they 
should  be  altered  and  improved,  but  the  new  life 
must  not  wait  for  their  improvement.  The  man  is 
everything.  Here  is  the  directness  and  simplicity 
of  Jesus.  Here  is  the  clearness  and  power  with 
which  He  strikes  directly  at  the  wicked  nature  and 
the  unhappy  soul,  and  says,  "  Be  holy,  in  spite  of 
every  temptation ;  be  happy  in  spite  of  every  disap- 
pointment; and  so,  in  time,  about  the  new  heart 
the  new  life  certainly  shall  grow." 

Is  it  not  clear  enough  what  influence  the  perpet- 


244  JOY   AND   SORROW. 

ual  holding  of  these  two  truths  must  have  had  upon 
the  way  in  which  the  misery  of  human  hfe  pressed 
on  the  soul  of  Christ.  They  saved  Him  from  de- 
spair. They  let  Him  feel  the  whole  weight  of  the 
world's  suffering  and  yet  be  filled  with  hope.  This 
is  what  seems  to  many  people  to  be  so  hard  as  to  be 
quite  impossible;  it  seems  to  be  almost  an  insult  to 
the  world  to  be  hopeful  of  it.  It  seems  to  be  a  sign 
of  imperfect,  insufficient  sympathy  to  be  able  to 
expect  the  ultimate  breaking  away  of  the  clouds  and 
breaking  forth  of  the  sun.  We  have  all  known  sick 
people  whose  feelings  were  hurt  if  you  ventured  to 
tell  them  that  some  day  they  would  get  well.  It 
was  a  sign  that  you  did  not  know  or  care  how  sick 
they  were.  And  so  men  say,  "  Ah,  if  you  felt  the 
misery  of  life  as  I  do,  if  these  cries  were  in  your  ears 
which  ring  in  mine,  if  these  sights  haunted  your 
eyes  which  I  never  can  shut  out,  if  your  heart  were 
as  tender  and  exposed  as  mine  is,  you  could  not  sing 
your  cheery  song  of  hope,  or  dream  that  life  ever 
could  be  cleared  to  sunshine."  I  do  not  know!  I 
think  it  probably  is  quite  impossible  to  make  any 
comparison  of  the  way  in  which  the  world's  sorrow 
weighs  on  any  two  human  souls.  The  difference  is 
too  much  one  of  kind  as  well  as  of  degree.  But  this 
must  always  be  most  significant — that  He  who  past 
all  doubt  felt  the  world's  pain  and  bore  its  burden 
on  His  soul  most  heavily,  was  at  the  same  time 
supremely  full  of  hope.  It  was  because  these  truths 
were  always  present  to  His  soul:  First,  that  the 
causes  which  make  evil  may  make  good ;  and,  sec- 
ond, that  out  of  evil  good  may  come. 


JOY  AND   SORROW.  245 

Remember  a  single  instance  of  His  hopefulness. 
Think  of  poor  Mary  of  Magdala.  Men  called  her 
hopeless  and  abandoned.  Who  had  abandoned 
her  ?  They  who  had  not  depth  or  faith  enough  to 
hope.  She  came  to  Jesus,  and  He  saw  two  things 
concerning  her, — that  the  same  passion  with  which 
she  had  sinned  might  have  been  in  her  the  power  of 
triumphant  and  enthusiastic  goodness ;  and  that  she 
might  be  all  the  stronger  for  her  weakness,  all  the 
purer  because  of  her  past  impurity.  In  the  power 
of  these  two  truths  His  soul  was  filled  with  hope 
which  passed  over  into  her  soul  and  saved  her.  And 
at  the  Cross  and  by  the  tomb  and  in  the  resurrection- 
garden,  she  was  nearest  to  the  Saviour  and  first  in 
the  privilege  of  the  new  life. 

This,  then,  at  least  is  clear  about  the  power  which 
the  world's  life  had  on  Jesus — that  the  pain  and  the 
happiness,  both  of  which  it  certainly  brought,  were 
very  closely  mingled  with  each  other.  Let  shallower 
souls  live  in  perpetual  attenuation  of  joy  and  sor- 
row. To  Jesus  there  was  no  joy  which  had  not  in 
it  the  power  of  sorrow ;  there  was  no  sorrow  which 
had  not  at  its  heart  a  beating  possibility  of  joy.  I 
think  there  can  have  been  nothing  which  He  did, 
and  nothing  which  He  saw,  in  which  both  were  not 
present.  A  child  was  born  and  the  splendor  of  the 
sunrise  filled  Christ's  heart,  and  at  the  same  time  the 
perils  of  the  perilous  hours  of  a  human  existence 
must  have  made  His  eyes  run  down  with  tears.  Did 
He  rejoice  in  man's  power  of  free-willed  indepen- 
dence ?  He  must  at  the  same  instant  have  shud- 
dered when  He  remembered  the  power  of  wickedness 


246  JOY  AND   SORROW. 

which  it  involved.  Did  He  see  a  group  of  men 
gathered  together  on  the  street,  or  a  family  assem- 
bled in  their  home  ?  The  beauty  of  the  social  in- 
stinct warmed  Him  and  threw  its  light  around  Him, 
and  the  pains  of  partings  and  the  mischiefs  of  evil 
influence  threw  their  darkness  on  His  sunshine  like 
a  cloud.  He  saw  men  working,  and  the  exaltation 
and  the  drudgery  of  labor  both  took  possession  of 
His  thought.  He  saw  men  die,  and,  with  one  single 
throb  of  His  heart,  the  fulfilment  of  the  vanished  life 
in  the  higher  world  which  it  had  entered  and  the 
awful  dreariness  and  desolation  which  its  vanishing 
had  left  behind  it  in  the  broken  home, — the  two 
together,  not  separate  but  as  one  single  emotion, 
compact  of  triumph  and  pity,  richened  his  ever- 
richening  human  life.  He  came  at  last  to  die  Him- 
self, and  who  shall  separate  as  they  blend  with  each 
other  in  His  soul  upon  the  Cross,  His  sorrow  for  the 
world's  sin  which  needs  redemption  and  His  thank- 
fulness for  the  privilege  of  redeeming  it  ?  There  is 
nothing  which  can  more  reveal  Christ  to  us  in  His 
completeness  than  this  mysterious  and  intimate  min- 
gling of  joy  and  pain  with  one  another  in  His  every 
act  and  experience  of  life. 

Do  we  not  know  something  of  it  in  ourselves, 
dear  friends  ?  In  every  deepest  moment  of  our  life 
have  not  joy  and  sorrow  met  in  closest  and  most 
bewildering  union  ?  When  your  friend  died,  what 
a  strange  vision  of  the  immortal  world,  shot  through 
with  the  shafts  of  desolation  and  bereavement  and 
the  unnaturalness  of  dying!  When  you  saw  heroic 
poverty  making  character  shine  in  the  hard  struggle 


JOY  AND   SORROW.  247 

with  contempt  and  need,  could  you  separate  your 
pity  from  your  thankfulness  ?  Was  there  ever  a 
great  success  of  your  life  which  did  not  make  you 
sad  and  sober  ?  Was  there  ever  a  great  disappoint- 
ment of  your  life  which,  even  while  you  felt  its 
weight  pressing  upon  you,  did  not  begin  to  turn 
that  weight  to  wings  and  inspire  you  with  the  sense 
of  a  new  freedom  ?  Has  the  home  ever  been  broken 
by  sickness,  that  some  new  light  has  not  come  in 
through  the  chinks  ?  It  is  not  mere  consolation  of 
pain  by  pleasure,  nor  paying  off  of  pleasure  with 
pain,  nor  rhythmic  beat  and  necessary  ordered  suc- 
cession of  the  two  to  one  another;  it  is  the  mystery 
of  a  life  disordered  and  yet  full  of  healthy  action,  in 
which  each  act  must  feel  the  full  condition  of  the 
life  of  which  it  is  a  part ;  where  no  gladness  can  be 
wholly  glad  nor  any  sadness  wholly  sad  because, 
though  sin  is  in  the  world,  it  is  God's  world  still. 

The  world  has  had  its  centuries  of  sorrow  and  its 
centuries  of  joy.  There  have  been  ages  in  which 
history  has  gone  burdened  with  the  awfulness  of  liv- 
ing and  the  weight  of  sin.  Then  there  have  been 
other  ages  which  have  tried  to  forget  all  that  and 
know  nothing  in  the  world  but  light  and  music. 
The  trouble  is  that  the  two  kinds  of  ages  have  kept 
aloof  from  one  another.  Their  spirits  would  not 
mingle.  The  light-hearted  Renaissance  came  only 
when  the  frightened  Middle  Ages  were  creeping  off 
into  the  darkness.  It  was  not  till  the  gloom  of 
Puritanism  disappeared  that  the  revel  of  the  Resto- 
ration seized  upon  English  life.  Some  day  an  age 
must  come  in  which  the  seriousness  of  living  and  the 


248  JOY  AND  SORROW. 

joy  of  living  must  blend  with  one  another  and  make 
something  richer  than  either  can  be  by  itself.  In 
the  best  character  of  our  own  century  it  sometimes 
seems  as  if  we  could  feel  its  coming.  When  it  has 
come  the  world  may  be  less  gloomily  despairing  and 
less  wildly  gay  than  it  has  sometimes  been,  but  it 
will  be  a  healthier,  wholesomer  world  to  live  in.  It 
is  the  poet's  dream  of  the  future: 

"  Years  hence,  perhaps,  may  dawn  an  age 

More  fortunate,  alas  !  than  we, 
Which  without  hardness  will  be  sage, 

And  gay  without  frivolity. 
Sons  of  the  world,  oh,  speed  those  years  ! 

But  while  we  wait  allow  our  tears." 

In  the  Bible,  the  Old  Testament  has  clear-cut, 
sharply  distinguishable  pictures  of  misery  and  joy. 
The  wretched  is  apt  to  be  all  wretchedness  and  the 
delightsome  all  delight.  But  in  the  New  Testament 
there  is  in  every  scene  the  subtle  meeting  of  joy  and 
pain,  which  makes  it  the  true  book  of  life.  Who 
can  tell  whether  the  parable  of  the  prodigal  son  is 
more  full  of  sadness  or  of  gladness  ?  Men  have 
called  the  Old  Testament  optimistic  and  the  New 
Testament  pessimistic.  But  each  is  too  great  for 
those  partial  names.  And  the  New  Testament  as 
the  great  book  of  God  and  man  holds  together  in 
its  clear  transparency  the  deep  sorrow  and  the  deeper 
joy  of  the  life  which  man  lives  in  his  own  weakness 
always  unfolded  in  the  strength  and  love  of  God. 
And  the  heart  of  the  New  Testament  is  the  soul  of 
Christ. 

And  now  what  shall  we  say  ?     Have  we  at  all 


JOY  AND  SORROW.  249 

done  what  we  wanted  to  do,  and  seen  at  all  how  this 
strange  puzzle  of  a  world  looked  to  the  eyes  of 
Jesus,  and  what  impression  it  fixed  upon  His  soul  ? 
I  think,  in  some  degree,  we  have.  I  think  I  can 
look  into  His  eyes  and  see  how  He  regards  it. 
Never  are  those  eyes  shut  for  a  moment  on  its  dark- 
est tragedies.  The  wrongs  and  sorrows  and  per- 
plexities, the  cruel  taunts  of  the  oppressors,  the 
deep  sighing  of  the  prisoners,  mingle  with  every 
moment's  music.  He  escapes  no  suffering  by  refus- 
ing to  see  and  hear.  He  gains  no  complacence  by 
indifference.  At  every  moment  He  is  conscious  of 
the  evil  and  the  sad.  But  at  every  moment  also  He 
is  conscious  also  of  immortality  and  God.  Therefore 
in  all  that  mingled  life,  hope  and  joy  are  supreme. 
Despair  is  impossible.  It  is  a  world  worth  living  for, 
worth  dying  for!  And  the  life  goes  on  its  way,  not 
thundering  a  chorus  of  light-hearted  triumph  which 
would  have  seemed  to  mock  men's  hearts,  but  sing- 
ing low  and  strong  a  strain  of  hope  and  certain  faith 
which  has  given  courage  to  souls  less  clear-sighted 
and  more  ready  to  despair. 

I  said  at  the  beginning  that  what  we  found  Jesus 
to  be  we  must  ourselves  become,  not  simply  because 
He  was  it,  but  because  the  sight  of  it  in  Him  became 
to  us  both  revelation  and  power,  showing  us  that  it 
was  the  only  thing  for  us  to  be  content  with  being, 
and  helping  us  to  be  it.  Shall  not  the  image  of  the 
divine  soul  of  Christ  responding  to  the  world  full  of 
sorrow,  open  some  deeper  and  healthier  possibilities 
and  hopes  in  us  ?  What  shall  they  be  ?  Let  me  try 
to  tell  you  as  I  bring  my  sermon  to  its  end. 


250  JOY   AND   SORROW. 

First,  we  will  never  shut  our  eyes  or  ears.  We 
will  not  say  that  all  is  right  when  we  know  that  very 
much  is  very  wrong.  Better  almost  despair  than 
wilful  self-indulgent  blindness.  Better  to  be  over- 
whelmed than  to  stand  on  the  firm  shore  with  unwet 
feet,  with  our  backs  to  the  great  sea  of  misery  and 
sin  which  rolls  and  welters  in  its  helplessness. 

But.  second,  we  will  never  let  the  two  sides  of  life 
be  separated  from  each  other.  Riches  and  poverty, 
failure  and  success,  sorrow  and  joy,  evil  and  good, 
shall  be  parts  of  one  life  and  feel  one  another's  pres- 
ence. So  shall  all  happiness  be  kept  earnest  with 
pity,  and  all  unhappiness  be  kept  patient  and  brave 
with  hope. 

For,  third,  it  shall  be  in  a  world  which  is  always 
God's  world  that  the  two  stand  in  the  presence  of 
each  other.  The  evil  shall  not  have  an  equal  chance 
with  the  good.  Mercy  and  immortality — a  divine 
power  and  a  long  abundant  time — shall  keep  the 
good  and  the  happy  always  in  the  place  of  advan- 
tage, always  really  master  of  the  field. 

To  him  who  thus  looks  at  the  world  and  its  dis- 
tresses, what  a  chance  of  growing  character  and 
what  an  impulse  of  undiscouraged  work  are  always 
abundantly  supplied. 

O  my  friends,  you  must  not  be  careless  and  you 
must  not  despair.  Your  hearts  must  grow  as 
Christ's  did,  but  your  steps  must  not  turn  back  from 
the  grave  on  which  the  stone  is  laid.  For  God  is 
omnipotent  and  man  is  immortal!  Therefore  be 
patient  and  work!  The  end  shall  certainly  be  joy, 
not  sorrow.     The  stone  shall  roll  away  and  the  dead 


JOY  AND   SORROW.  2$  I 

come  forth.  Alas  for  him  who  in  this  world  of  sor- 
row dares  to  be  a  trifler !  Alas  for  him  who  in  this 
world  of  God  ceases  to  hope!  The  end  shall  cer- 
tainly be  peace.  God  help  us  all  to  hasten  that 
great  end  by  patient,  faithful,  cheerful  service ! 


XV. 

THE   LAW  OF  THE   SPIRIT   OF   LIFE. 

"  For  the  law  of  the  Spirit  of  life  in  Christ  Jesus  hath  made  me  free 
from  the  law  of  sin  and  death  " — Romans  viii.  2. 

This  is  Paul's  cry  of  triumph  over  the  great  eman- 
cipation of  his  Hfe.  It  is  very  interesting  to  see  the 
remarkable  variety  of  ways  in  which  the  great  apostle 
describes  his  conversion.  It  was  so  real  to  him  that 
it  was  new  every  morning.  As  his  life  shifted  and 
advanced  the  relation  to  that  critical  event  of  his  life 
when  he  became  the  disciple  of  Jesus  Christ  was 
always  changing.  There  could  be  no  better  study, 
I  think,  of  the  real  nature  of  conversion  and  regene- 
ration than  a  collection  and  comparison  of  the  vari- 
ous aspects  in  which  the  change  of  his  own  life 
presented  itself  to  St.  Paul,  and  the  different  de- 
scriptions that  he  gave  of  it.  It  would  at  least  im- 
press us  with  the  idea  of  the  largeness  and  the  life 
which  that  experience  possessed  in  his  eyes,  so  that 
no  one  description  could  comprehend  it  all.  I  do 
not  propose  any  such  great  study  to-day ;  I  only 
want  to  take  one  of  the  richest  of  his  accounts  of  his 
new  life,  and  see  how  far  we  can  get  at  and  appro- 
priate its  meaning.     Hear  it  again:  "The  law  of  the 

252 


THE   LAW   OF   THE   SPIRIT   OF   LIFE.  253 

spirit  of  life  in  Jesus  Christ  has  made  me  free  from 
the  law  of  sin  and  death." 

The  statement  is  not  theological,  except  in  the 
best  and  broadest  sense.  It  is  not  technical  or  ab- 
stract. It  is  the  real  story  of  a  real  man's  experience 
told  in  what  to  him  was  the  simplest  way.  And  it 
is  universal.  It  is  the  story  of  something  that  is  go- 
ing on  here  in  our  midst,  of  something  that  has  come 
or  may  come  in  the  life  of  every  soul  I  speak  to.  I 
wish  we  could  all  feel  this  at  the  beginning.  Unless 
Paul's  life  was  such  as  yours  and  mine  might  be,  if 
all  this  slavery  and  freedom  that  he  tells  about  was 
special  and  exceptional  in  Paul,  all  our  best  interest 
in  Paul  evaporates.  If  he  is  a  curiosity  and  not  a 
type,  why  should  we  preach  about  him  ?  But  he  is 
a  type.  This  experience  of  his  is  the  possible  expe- 
rience of  everybody,  has  been  the  actual  experience 
of  thousands.  It  has  in  it  the  deepest  secret  of 
human  life.  Let  us  see  if  we  can  find  it  out  and 
understand  it. 

"  The  law  of  the  spirit  of  life  has  set  me  free  from 
the  law  of  death."  Those  are  great  words.  They 
touch  this  truth  first :  That  only  a  law  can  really  set 
a  man  free  from  a  law.  Only  a  better  law  can  deliver 
a  man  out  of  the  power  of  a  worse  law.  See  how 
true  that  is.  A  law  is  simply  a  power  in  orderly  and 
continuous  action.  We  use  the  word  most  compe- 
tently, as  if  we  understood  all  about  it,  but  really 
that  is  all  we  know.  The  law  of  gravitation  is  sim- 
ply the  orderly  and  continuous  working  of  that 
unknown  force  that  draws  every  atom  to  every 
other.     The  law  of  the  sunrise  is  only  the  orderly 


254  THE  LAW  OF  THE  SPIRIT  OF  LIFE. 

and  continuous  operation  of  those  powers  which, 
combining,  send  the  glory  daily  up  the  east.  A 
single  falling  apple,  a  single  sunrise  is  not  a  law.  It 
is  a  miracle.  The  power  must  repeat  itself  with 
steady  and  orderly  continuance.  Then  comes  the 
law. 

And  the  same  is  true  of  moral  laws.  We  say  that 
industry  is  the  law  of  a  man's  life.  That  does  not 
mean  that  once  or  twice,  here  and  there,  he  has 
yielded  to  the  necessity  of  work,  or  even  labored 
with  enthusiasm,  but  it  suggests  the  constant  obedi- 
ence to  the  continual  impulse,  the  steady  pressure 
on  his  life  of  a  well-regulated,  unremitting  power. 
If  a  man's  law  is  sensuality  we  have  in  his  life  the 
ever-present  power  of  lust  working  its  terrible  results 
according  to  its  nature.  If  a  man  is  under  the  law, 
in  the  dominion,  of  theft  or  drink,  he  is  not  the  man 
whose  life,  ordinarily  sober  and  honest,  occasionally 
gives  way,  breaks  down  before  a  shining  piece  of 
booty  or  a  tempting  glass  of  liquor;  he  is  the  man 
in  whom  the  power  of  dishonesty  or  intemperance 
works  orderly  and  continuously,  crushing  him  under 
its  never  intermitted  weight.  This  whole  impres- 
sion of  steady,  unbroken  pressure  from  a  force 
behind  is  the  impression  of  law.  It  is  not  fitful ;  it 
is  fateful.  The  man  is  not  simply  vexed  by  it ;  he 
is  held  by  it ;  he  is  its  slave.  And  now  what  can 
release  a  man  from  such  a  pressure  ?  Evidently  only 
something  as  steady  and  continuous  as  the  pressure 
itself.  A  mere  temporary  resistance  cannot  do  it. 
A  mere  check  in  the  order  does  not  destroy  the 
order.     You  do  not  free  the  stream  from  the  great 


THE   LAW   OF  THE   SPIRIT   OF   LIFE.  255 

law  which  is  forcing  it  down  to  the  sea  by  merely 
throwing  a  dam  across  it,  which  only  hinders  it  and 
chafes  it.  By  and  by  the  water  that  you  tried  to 
fence  away  has  broken  through,  and,  all  the  more 
violently  because  you  tried  to  stop  it,  the  stream  is 
tumbling  and  foaming  along  the  old  channel.  You 
must  make  a  new  channel.  You  must  slope  the 
ground  with  steeper  declivity  another  way.  You 
must  bring  a  new  power  as  orderly  and  as  continuous 
as  the  old ;  in  other  words,  you  must  make  a  new 
law  before  your  stream  is  really  free  from  the  old 
law  and  runs  a  new  way  as  freely  as  it  ran  the  old. 

I  dwell  upon  this  because  it  seems  to  me  impor- 
tant. Only  a  new  law  can  give  a  man  freedom  from 
an  old  law.  And  yet  every  day  we  see  men  ignoring 
this  truth.  Every  day  we  see  men  trying  to  get 
loose  from  the  old  despotic  laws  of  their  life,  not  by 
the  establishment  of  any  new  law  but  by  some  one 
spasmodic  struggle  which  is  a  mere  log  thrown 
across  the  stream,  and  had  no  real  power  over  the 
current.  You  see  a  man  whose  law  of  life  is  idleness, 
any  one  of  the  men  of  wasted  faculties  who  are  sown 
along  all  through  our  society  and  weaken  our  social 
structure  from  top  to  bottom.  There  is  hardly  one 
of  them  who  once  in  his  life  at  least  has  not  had  a 
burst  of  energy,  scarcely  one  who  in  some  moment 
of  shame  has  not  determined  that  he  would  be  free 
and  gone  and  thrown  himself  headlong  into  some 
hard  work  in  a  way  that  startled  and  amazed  his 
friends.  Almost  all  the  idle  men  who  are  really 
good  for  anything  have  done  this  once  in  their  lives. 
How  is  it  that  they  come  back  again  into  the  ranks 


256  THE   LAW   OF  THE   SPIRIT   OF   LIFE. 

of  idleness  and  live  again  in  the  weary  bondage  of 
doing  nothing  ?  It  was  because  they  set  up  no  new 
law,  no  law  of  industry.  No  orderly  scheme,  made 
up  of  motive,  method,  and  anticipated  result,  no 
reasonable  habit  of  industry  was  taken  and  fastened 
on  their  lives.  One  violent  struggle  was  made,  but  a 
settled  law  laughs  at  a  violent  struggle.  Any  set- 
tled government  makes  little  of  mere  furious  ebulli- 
tion, and  is  only  afraid  of  consistent  and  organized 
purpose.  This  is  the  reason  of  these  failures.  Be- 
fore you  can  get  free  from  the  law  of  falsehood  that 
rules  you,  you  must  adopt  and  submit  yourself  to 
the  law  of  truth.  Before  you  can  shake  off  the  law 
of  lust  you  must  be  willing  to  accept  the  law  of  pu- 
rity with  all  its  hard  denials  and  severe  disciplines. 
No  struggle  sets  a  man  free  more  than  a  struggle  can 
set  a  nation  free.  For  both,  nothing  but  a  law  can 
break  the  bondage  of  a  law. 

And  this  seems  to  me  almost  as  important  on  the 
other  side.  There  are  good  laws  of  life  against  which 
the  evil  parts  of  us  are  always  trying  to  rebel.  It  is 
good  for  us  to  know — it  is  often  just  what  we  need 
to  help  and  encourage  us — that  no  outbreak  of  evil 
sets  us  free  from  the  dominion  which  the  good  has 
been  establishing  over  us.  Not  till  the  evil  becomes 
a  law  does  it  really  break  up  the  law  of  goodness  to 
which  we  have  been  trying  to  submit  ourselves. 
The  distinction  between  the  spasmodic  outbreak  of 
evil  passion,  however  violent,  and  the  deliberate 
acceptance  of  evil  principle  is  a  distinction  that 
every  system  of  morality  must  draw  and  every  soul 
must  recognize.     The  Bible,  that  wonderful  book  of 


THE  LAW  OF  THE   SPIRIT  OF  LIFE.  257 

human  life,  is  full  of  the  distinction.  This  last,  the 
deliberate  acceptance  of  an  evil  principle,  is  what  it 
calls  the  sin  against  the  Holy  Ghost,  so  deep  as  to 
be  almost  unforgivable,  almost  irrecoverable. 

Suppose  some  one  of  you  has  come  here  this  morn- 
ing with  just  this  burden  on  his  soul.  You  have 
been  trying  to  be  good.  Not  merely  to  do  certain 
good  things,  but  to  have  goodness  established  itself 
as  the  law  in  your  soul.  You  have  felt  that  your 
trial  was  succeeding.  More  and  more  that  strong 
and  gentle  power  was  working  in  orderly  and  contin- 
uous action  upon  you,  more  and  more  the  sweet  and 
pure  dominion  of  holiness  was  treating  you  as  its 
servant, — but  yesterday,  perhaps,  it  all  broke  down. 
You  did  some  flagrant  deed,  you  spoke  some  brutal 
word  that  seems  to  you  to  have  undone  everything. 
You  seem  to  have  wrenched  yourself  out  of  the  gra- 
cious law  that  has  been  ruling  you.  Alas,  if  such  be 
any  man's  history  it  is  very  sad,  it  is  very  bad,  but 
do  not  fail  to  see  just  how  bad  it  is.  No  sudden 
volcanic  eruption,  however  it  may  interrupt,  can 
break  and  cast  away  the  law.  If  only  you  have  not 
deliberately  chosen  the  evil  and  are  not  choosing  it 
now,  if  only  there  is  no  new  law  of  wickedness  set 
up  in  your  heart,  my  dear  friend,  the  old  law  is  not 
broken  and  you  need  not  despair.  You  may  come 
back  penitent  and  humbled,  less  confident  and  per- 
haps, therefore,  all  the  more  strong,  to  put  yourself 
anew  under  the  great  sway  of  the  law  of  righteous- 
ness from  which  you  are  not  cast  out,  for  only  a  new 
law  can  really  break  an  old  law  off. 

And  now  with  this  understanding  of  the  terms 

»7 


2S8  THE  LAW   OF  THE  SPIRIT  OF   LIFE. 

which  he  uses  we  come  back  to  St.  Paul's  statement. 
He  is  accounting  for  his  own  life,  and  he  says  that  a 
new  law  has  set  him  free  from  an  old  law,  the  law  of 
life  had  released  him  from  the  law  of  sin  and  death. 
He  had  been  living  away  back  then  under  the  law  of 
sin  and  death.  Remember  what  we  said  that  a  law 
was — a  power  in  steady  and  continuous  operation. 
It  need  not  be  violent.  It  need  not  make  a  noise. 
How  silently  the  laws  of  nature  work  day  after  day, 
year  after  year,  in  building  up  or  gnawing  down  the 
mighty  structure  of  the  planet.  Power  in  steady 
and  continuous  operation,  that  is  all.  And  so  the 
law  of  sin  and  death  under  which  Paul  has  lived, 
what  was  it  ?  Nothing  flagrant  certainly.  It  does 
not  describe  the  life  of  any  outrageous  ill-doer 
whose  outbursts  of  iniquity  had  shocked  and  scared 
his  brother  men.  Only  the  steady,  unremitted,  con- 
tinuous pressure  of  a  downward  force  upon  the  life, 
only  the  slow  but  certain  disintegration  of  its  nobler 
parts,  the  unseen  and  uninterrupted  crumbling  away 
of  the  truth,  the  purity,  the  lovingness,  the  religious- 
ness of  the  nature,  wickedness  in  not  unpleasing 
shapes,  selfishness  and  self-deception  like  disease 
eating  out  the  moral  healthiness, — only  this  is  the 
picture  of  his  life  as  he  looks  back  upon  it,  the  steady 
continuous  work  of  evil  passions  killing  out  the 
noblest  capacities, — the  law  of  sin  and  death.  How 
the  statement  stops  short  with  the  simple  fact.  It 
is  terrible  in  its  simplicity.  It  does  not  philosophize 
nor  explain.  It  does  not  say  where  the  law  came 
from  nor  who  made  it.  It  only  remembers  the  sim- 
ple fact.     The  soul  of  the  apostle  seems  to  shudder 


THE  LAW  OF  THE  SPIRIT  OF  LIFE.  259 

as  he  looks  back  and  describes  it.  Men  might  ex- 
plain it  as  they  would.  He  only  told  the  fact  and 
seemed,  as  he  told  it,  to  feel  still  the  hard,  cold, 
fatal  pressure  of  that  law  of  sin  in  which  he  had 
been  held  so  long.  It  was  as  if  one  of  the  people 
who  went  down  in  the  sinking  steamer  last  winter 
and  came  up  again,  and  was  saved,  should  tell  you 
of  the  moments  when  he  felt  himself  grasped  tight 
in  the  terrible  embrace  of  the  ocean,  fast  held  in  the 
law  of  the  water.  He  would  not  philosophize.  He 
would  use  no  vehement  or  excited  words.  He 
would  not  explain.  Only  once  more  it  would  seem 
to  him,  and  he  would  make  you  feel  as  if  the  terrible, 
close,  solid,  quiet  pressure  of  the  water  was  on  the 
heart  and  the  head,  the  world  shut  out,  the  sky  lost 
forever,  and  the  man  sinking  deeper  and  deeper  into 
the  endless  depths.  That  is  the  way  in  which  Paul 
talks  about  the  time  when  he  was  a  slave  to  the  law 
of  sin  and  death. 

You  must  think,  as  I  speak,  who  the  man  is  who 
said  this  about  himself.  It  is  St.  Paul,  and  he  is 
speaking  of  a  time  in  his  life  when  there  was  no 
young  man  in  Jerusalem  more  highly  considered, 
more  respectable  than  he.  He  is  speaking  of  the 
time  when  he  was  Gamaliel's  disciple  and  first  among 
the  young  students  of  the  law.  The  higher  in- 
spiration had  not  yet  entered  into  his  life,  but  he 
was  earnest,  ambitious,  devoted,  and  personally 
pure.  This  is  the  young  man  who  afterwards,  look- 
ing back  upon  his  early  life,  knew  that  in  all  these 
well-seeming  years  he  had  been  the  subject  of  a 
steady  process  of  moral  and  spiritual  deterioration. 


26o  THE   LAW   OF  THE   SPIRIT   OF   LIFE. 

Does  it  not  startle  us  when  we  hear  such  a  man  say 
such  things  about  himself  ?  Does  it  not  make  us  in 
imagination  lay  our  life  down  by  his  and  ask,  If  that 
is  his  account  of  himself,  what  ought  we  to  be  think- 
ing of  ourselves  ?  May  it  not  be  that  we  are  in  the 
same  terrible  grasp  that  was  holding  him  ?  May  it 
not  be  that  he  is  simply  the  clearest-sighted  and 
most  serious-minded  among  a  company  of  light- 
hearted  slaves, — or  rather  he  is  a  slave  who  has 
escaped,  and  comes  back,  and  stands  outside  the 
walls  inside  of  which  we  have  lived  so  long  and  so 
contentedly  that  we  have  forgotten  they  are  a 
prison,  and  tells  us  there  how  the  old  slavery  seems 
to  him  now,  and  what  the  new  liberty  is  like.  May 
it  not  be  that  we  are  still  under  the  law  of  sin  and 
death,  and  that  this  is  the  real  explanation,  the  dis- 
satisfaction and  restlessness  which  we  have  tried  to 
I  soothe  with  games  and  cure  with  sweetmeats  ?  My 
'  dear  friends,  it  is  not  for  men  like  us  to  say  that  a 
man  like  St.  Paul  was  exaggerating  when  he  de- 
■■  scribed  our  human  life.  It  is  rather  for  us  to  see  if 
his  be  not  the  only  true  description  of  it,  whether 
these  calm  and  commonplace  lives  of  ours  have  not 
in  them  really  all  the  tragedy  that  was  so  terrible  to 
him! 

We  may  look  at  this  more  in  detail.  And  I  beg 
you  to  set  your  conscience  free  to  act  upon  it  freely 
1  as  I  speak.  Every  bad  law  under  which  we  live  has 
;  its  three  kinds  of  bad  effects:  it  tells  upon  the  char- 
!  acter,  and  upon  the  standards,  and  upon  the  desti- 
\  nies  of  those  who  live  under  it.  It  is  impossible  for 
a  state  to  live  under  a  bad  law  without  being  de- 


THE   LAW   OF  THE   SPIRIT   OF   LIFE.  261 

moralized  in  its  character  and  perverted  in  its  judg- 
ments and  injured  in  its  prosperity — all  three.  And 
now,  if  we  are  really  living  under  a  power  of  selfish- 
ness which  is  really,  however  silently  and  placidly, 
getting  us  more  and  more  into  its  power  and  crum- 
bling out  our  moral  life,  it  will  tell  in  all  these  three 
ways :  we  shall  be  its  slaves  in  our  characters,  in  our 
judgments,  and  in  our  destinies.  Let  me  take  the 
average  man  of  perfect  respectability.  To  charge 
that  man  with  flagrant  vice  would  be  absurd.  His 
hands  are  pure  of  other  men's  money.  His  word 
may  be  trusted  and  his  thoughts  are  pure ;  but  if  we 
could  talk  quietly  and  without  prejudice  and  very 
freely  together — talk  as  hardly  any  man  living  has  a 
right  to  talk  to  any  other,  but  as  one  may  speak  to 
a  company  of  his  fellow-men  together,  as  earnestly 
as  if  he  spoke  to  them  singly — if  we  could  talk  thus, 
I  would  try  to  get  that  man  to  look  at  his  own  life 
calmly. 

Consider  yourself.  How  has  it  fared,  first,  with 
your  character  ?  Are  you  a  better  man  or  a  worse 
than  you  were  away  back,  ten,  twenty,  years  ago  ? 
Is  your  moral  fibre  firmer  or  feebler  ?  Are  you 
more  or  less  likely  to  do  an  unselfish,  self-sacrificing 
thing  ?  Are  you  as  purely,  simply  true,  as  truly 
simply  pure  as  you  were  when  you  were  a  boy  ?  Do 
not  tell  me  that  you  are  just  the  same.  That  cannot 
be.  You  must  be  moved  by  some  influence.  You 
must  be  subject  to  some  law.  If  you  know  that 
you  are  growing  weaker  and  not  stronger,  narrower 
and  not  broader,  worse  and  not  better,  there  can  be 
no  doubt  you  are  under  the  law  of  sin  and  death. 


262  THE   LAW   OF  THE   SPIRIT   OF   LIFE. 

And  then  think  of  your  judgments.  How  is  it  ? 
Can  you  speak  up  boldly  and  pronounce  upon  the 
moral  character  of  the  actions  that  are  done  about 
you  with  a  fearless  and  unhesitating  voice  ?  Is 
there  nothing,  no  power  of  venerable  tradition,  no 
fear  of  biting  ridicule,  to  make  you  disguise  and 
pervert  and  color  the  straight,  clear  standards  of 
your  soul  ?  Can  you  call  the  bad  man  bad,  the 
mean  man  mean,  the  hypocrite  a  hypocrite,  and 
the  unpopular  saint  a  saint  ?  If  not,  if  the  false 
standards  all  around  you  distort  your  judgments  and 
frighten  your  courage,  what  can  you  say  about  your- 
self in  your  weak  conformity  ?  Are  you  not  a  slave 
to  the  law  of  sin  and  death,  to  the  evil  tendency 
that  is  working  in  the  world?  And  then  think  of 
your  destiny.  Is  it  not  true  that  you  are  suffering 
mow  the  consequences  of  sins  that  you  did  long  ago? 
Your  past  sin  as  well  as  your  present  has  you  in  its 
power.  What  means  that  ache  in  your  body,  what 
means  that  foul  association  in  your  mind  ?  Are  you 
the  same  that  you  would  be  if  you  had  begun  to  live 
and  sin  this  morning,  and  had  not  lived  and  sinned 
for  years,  with  fathers  and  mothers  who  have  lived 
and  sinned  before  you  ?  Ah,  my  dear  friends,  do 
you  not  see  that  it  needs  no  violent,  excited  words. 
Every  time  we  look  into  our  characters,  our  judg- 
ments, or  our  conditions, — every  time  we  rise  and 
try  to  stir  into  a  better  life  we  find  the  law  of  sin 
holding  us  back  So  long  as  the  drop  flows  with 
the  current  it  seems  to  be  free ;  so  long  as  we  arc 
satisfied  with  our  life  it  seems  as  if  there  were  no 
slavery  about  it.     The  moment  one  drop  tries  to 


THE   LAW  OF   THE   SPIRIT   OF   LIFE.  263 

breast  the  current  it  finds  its  helplessness.  The 
moment  we  try  to  escape  out  of  our  worldliness  and 
selfishness,  there  tightens  about  us  the  hard,  close 
grasp  of  the  law  of  sin  and  death. 

And  now  we  must  pass  on.  This  is  the  law  of 
death  which  Paul  remembered.  But  from  this  law 
he  had  been  set  free,  and  in  these  triumphant  words 
he  tells  us  what  had  delivered  him.  The  law  of  the 
spirit  of  life  hath  set  me  free  from  the  law  of  death. 
See,  in  the  first  place,  how  true  what  we  said  before 
is :  only  a  law  can  set  the  man  free  from  a  law. 
Nothing  less  radical,  less  persuasive,  less  continuous 
than  the  power  that  enslaves  can  be  the  power  to 
free.  No  mere  shock  of  galvanic  movement  can 
stop  the  law  of  death  that  is  working  in  the  moral 
nature.  What  can  stop  death  ?  What  can  go  un- 
derneath the  tyranny  and  universality  of  decay  and 
undermine  and  conquer  it  ?  Nothing  but  that  which 
is  the  old  and  triumphant  and  beautiful  enemy  of 
death  everywhere !  Nothing  but  the  spirit  of  life ! 
O  that  eternal  struggle  that  pervades  a  universe 
which  is  always  dying  and  yet  ever  living  anew! 
The  struggle  of  the  spirit  of  life  with  death !  In 
every  growing  tree,  in  every  constantly  decaying, 
constantly  renewing  body,  in  every  strange  vitality 
of  nations  and  of  institutions,  everywhere  there  is 
the  struggle  of  the  spirit  of  life  with  death.  It  is  a 
positive,  strong  power  everywhere  grappling  with 
the  monster  that  tries  and  sometimes  seems  to  rule 
the  world. 

And  if  there  be  any  consistent  power  of  goodness 
able   to  cope  with  and   conquer    the    ever-present 


264  THE   LAW   OF  THE   SPIRIT   OF   LIFE. 

power  of  wickedness — that  in  the  moral  world  will 
be  what  this  mysterious  vitality  is  in  the  world  of 
physical  things,  the  law  of  the  spirit  of  life  which 
can  set  men  free  from  the  law  of  death.  Then  take 
St.  Paul  again.  O  my  friends,  read  with  your  hearts 
as  well  as  with  your  eyes,  hear  with  your  hearts  as 
well  as  with  your  ears,  as  he  goes  on  to  tell  us  where 
he  found  this  '  Law  of  the  spirit  of  life."  "  The 
law  of  the  spirit  of  life  in  Jesus  Christ,"  he  says, 
"  has  set  me  free.  '  Ah!  he  is  back  now  where  he 
belongs,  and  we  are  back,  out  of  all  abstractions  and 
speculations,  in  the  very  mention  of  the  name  of 
Him  of  whom  it  is  the  joy  of  the  Christian  minister 
to  preach.  It  was  in  the  example  and  the  redemp- 
tion of  Jesus  Christ  that  St.  Paul  found  the  power 
which  alone  was  able  to  meet  and  master  this  force 
of  moral  degradation  and  deterioration  which  he  saw 
in  the  world  and  which  he  felt  in  himself.  He  had 
felt  in  himself  and  he  was  looking  to  see  in  the 
world,  the  power  of  a  personal  Christ,  everywhere 
believed  in,  everywhere  loved,  become  the  power 
of  a  new  freedom,  become  a  spring-time  for  the 
winter-bound  humanity. 

It  is  the  old  story,  as  you  see.  How  old,  how 
ever  new  it  is — Christ  the  freedom,  Christ  the  life ! 
Paul  says  that  Christ  has  set  him  free.  History,  if 
we  bade  her  open  her  solemn  mouth,  would  tell  us 
how  largely  the  world  has  been  set  free  by  Christ, 
and  how  He  will  yet  break  all  the  fetters  that  are 
left.  But  most  important  for  us,  if  any  of  us  realize 
the  slavery  that  I  tried  to  describe  a  while  ago,  will 
be  one  question, — Can  Christ  set  us  free  ?     Can  He, 


THE   LAW   OF  THE   SPIRIT   OF   LIFE.  265 

and  will  He,  and  how  ?  Indeed  He  can  and  He 
will,  and  so  simply !  We  must  go  back  to  the  three 
forms  of  the  slavery  that  I  described.  First  of  all, 
what  does  Christ  do  to  free  the  character  from  the 
power  of  sin  ?  That,  of  course,  is  the  deepest, 
hardest,  most  essential  thing.  Unless  He  can  do 
that,  of  what  avail  is  anything  else  that  He  can  do  ? 
What  benefit  would  it  be  to  have  every  consequence 
of  sin  taken  off,  and  every  false  standard  about  us 
rectified,  if  all  the  while  the  heart  stayed  bad  and 
bred  new  badness  out  of  its  own  unchanged  nature  ? 
That  is  the  superficialness  of  many  half-forms  of 
Christianity.  But  Christ  comes  and  says:  "  No!  a 
new  heart  you  must  have,  and  a  new  heart  I  will 
give  you,"  It  sounds  mysterious,  but  with  all  its 
mystery  it  is  inspiring.  It  suggests  and  prophesies 
just  what  we  want.  ''  You  must  be  born  again. 
You  must  have  a  new  life,"  He  says;  and  then  He 
says,  "  I  am  that  new  life  "  ;  and  still  again,  when 
we  ask  how  we  are  to  get  hold  of  Him,  the  new  life, 
and  make  Him  ours.  He  says,  "  If  any  man  love  me 
he  will  keep  my  commandments,  and  I  will  come  to 
him. "  That  is  the  old  story,  so  old  and  yet  so 
always  new.  It  is  love  for  Christ  that  is  to  be  the 
regenerating  power.  From  love  through  obedience 
into  communion, — that  is  to  be  the  course  of  the 
regenerated  life.  Here  I  am  held  in  the  law  of  sin 
and  death, — held,  that  is,  by  the  steady  and  contin- 
uous power  of  moral  evil,  slowly,  steadily,  degenerat- 
ing, pressed  down  away  from  goodness  into  sin.  No 
sudden  struggle,  no  spurt  of  rebellious  repentance, 
is  going  to  save  me.     Again  and  again,  indignant 


266  THE  LAW   OF   THE   SPIRIT   OF   LIFE. 

with  myself,  impatient  with  the  growing  earthliness 
of  my  life,  I  have  leaped  up  and  broken  loose,  but 
it  was  useless.  I  could  not  get  free  so.  It  was  a 
law  that  held  me.  As  well  might  some  bold  wave 
that  had  flung  its  spray  up  against  the  clouds  think 
that  it  had  escaped  from  the  universal  law  of  the 
tides.  Another  law  must  come  in,  another  power 
just  as  positive  and  steady  and  persistent  as  the 
power  from  which  I  want  to  get  free.  Then  Christ 
comes — He  puts  Himself  before  the  heart.  There 
is  something  in  that  heart  that  is  made  to  love  Him. 
Superficial,  on  the  top  of  the  heart,  lie  those  passions 
with  which  it  loves  wickedness.  Deeper  down,  un- 
stirred as  yet,  lies  the  diviner  faculty  of  loving  Him, 
the  perfect  goodness.  By  and  by  as  He  stands  there, 
patient,  expectant,  those  powers  that  were  made  for 
Him  begin  to  feel  Him,  buried  as  they  are,  just  as 
the  little  buried  seed  feels  the  sun  which  has  come 
and  is  standing  in  the  heaven  over  it,  waiting  for  it 
to  rise.  Then  there  must  come  a  great  upheaval, 
a  great  reversal  in  the  soul.  That  which  was  under- 
most must  become  uppermost.  The  heart  in  its 
own  way  becomes  changed.  There  is  more  or  less 
of  conscious  tumult.  That  does  not  matter.  But 
the  result  is  something  definite  and  positive.  The 
old  law  of  selfishness  has  given  place  to  another 
power,  just  as  positive,  just  as  persistent,  and  the 
soul  is  obedient  to  the  new  law  of  the  love  of 
Christ.  The  life  which  it  now  lives  in  the  flesh  it 
lives  by  the  faith  of  the  Son  of  God,  a  faith  that 
works  by  love.  This  is  the  freedom  of  the  charac- 
ter,   the   law  of    sin    and    death    broken   through, 


THE   LAW   OF   THE   SPIRIT   OF   LIFE.  267 

broken  to  pieces  by  the  law  of  the  spirit  of  Hfe  in 
Jesus  Christ. 

And  with  this  freedom  once  established  the  other 
freedoms  follow  easily.  When  the  character  is  really 
free  in  Christ  the  mere  bondage  of  the  standards 
and  circumstances  about  us  cannot  long  imprison  us. 
Many  a  Christian,  becoming  gradually,  strongly  cer- 
tain of  the  love  of  Christ,  has  looked  about  with  fear 
and  said,  **  O  if  I  could  only  take  this  sweet  new 
life  off  into  a  wilderness  and  live  it  there !  O  if  I 
could  only  carry  my  new  heart  into  a  new  world  that 
was  not  full  of  the  traditions  and  conventionalities 
of  sin!  But  here!  what  can  I  do?  What  chance 
has  my  poor  piety  among  the  venerable  habitudes 
of  worldliness  in  the  midst  of  which  it  has  got  to 
live  ?  What  possibility  is  there  that  it  can  stay 
pure  and  unperverted  ?  "  Many  a  Christian  has 
asked  the  question  anxiously,  almost  despairingly ; 
and  the  answer  has  come  to  many  a  Christian  with 
unexpected  convincingness  as  his  new  life  went  on. 
He  found  the  power  of  the  new  law  of  righteousness. 
He  found  that  when  he  once  was  free  in  himself  it 
was  a  wonderfully  easy  thing  to  tread  across  the 
prejudices  and  conventionalities  which  outwardly 
tried  to  bind  his  freedom.  The  new  law  of  the  new 
life  was  stronger  than  the  old  law  of  sin  and  death. 
Law  had  met  law  and  conquered.  I  think  there  is 
nothing  that  one  would  say  with  more  entire  confi- 
dence to  the  young  Christian,  whose  soul  was  really 
growing  full  of  the  love  of  Christ,  but  whose  first  new 
joy  in  the  Saviour  was  clouded  with  anxiety  as  to 
the  fate  of  this  new  experience  in  the  midst  of  the 


268  THE   LAW   OF   THE   SPIRIT   OF   LIFE. 

worldly  world  in  which  it  would  have  to  live,  than 
just  this. — "Do  not  fear,  you  need  not  fear  for  that. 
You  have  really  no  idea  how  weak  to  a  man  whose 
heart  is  full  of  manly  love  for  Christ  appear  the 
temptations  that  seemed  before  so  terrible.  The 
outward  tyranny  of  sin  breaks  easily  when  once  its 
inward  power  is  gone.  It  seems  to  you  as  if  it 
would  be  a  terrible  thing  to  be  ridiculed,  terrible  to 
have  men  point  the  finger  at  you  and  say,  *  There 
goes  the  Christian.'  Be  a  Christian,  and  the  terror, 
is  all  gone.  The  only  sting  that  will  be  left  in  the 
ridicule  will  be  shame  that  you  deserve  it  so  little." 
This  one  might  say  with  perfect  confidence.  There 
will  be  struggles  of  the  world  still  to  retain  its  slave, 
and  very  often  it  will  seem  to  have  got  him,  but  it 
never  can  really  hold  him  and  bind  him  and  crush 
him  so  long  as  he  is  really,  inwardly,  the  servant  of 
Christ.  If  the  Son  has  made  him  free,  he  shall  be 
free  indeed. 

And  then  there  remains  only  one  other  part  of  the 
bondage  of  sin — namely,  its  consequences.  How- 
ever free  I  am  now,  there  is  the  past,  there  are  the 
sins  of  my  youth  and  the  transgressions  that  have 
filled  my  riper  years.  What  shall  I  do  with  them  ? 
I  need  not  tell  you  out  of  what  deep  instincts  of  jus- 
tice in  the  human  soul  that  question  rises  to  the 
human  conscience.  It  is  no  artificial  fear.  It  comes 
out  of  no  mere  fiction  or  religious  terrorism.  The 
human  soul  feels  the  sin  of  its  own  past  binding  it, 
without  one  word  of  revelation  save  that  which  is 
written  in  its  own  nature.  And  from  that  sin  of  its 
past  what  can  deliver  it,  except  the  clear  free  for- 


THE   LAW   OF   THE   SPIRIT   OF   LIFE.  269 

giveness  of  Him  against  whom  the  sin  was  com- 
mitted,— the  opening  of  the  great  hand  in  which 
that  past  is  held  so  that  it  is  dropped  down,  down 
into  the  gulf  of  oblivion  to  be  seen  no  more  forever. 
"  Forgiveness  "  is  the  golden  word  of  this  last  lib- 
erty. '  Your  sins  and  iniquities  will  I  remember 
no  more!  "  The  liberating  work  of  Christ  is  perfect 
when  having  filled  the  heart  with  the  new  love  of 
Himself,  He  says  to  it,  '"  Go,  and  forget  the  past 
except  for  gratitude  and  warning."  "  I  forgive 
you."  These  words,  simple  and  deep  with  all  the 
majesty  of  His  nature,  reach  back  and  sweep  a 
mighty  hand  across  the  blotted  record  of  the  past, 
reach  in  and  spread  a  peace  over  and  through  the 
troubled  conscience,  and  the  man  is  free.  No  past 
sin  holds  him  any  longer;  no  consequences  terrify 
him.  Not  merely  the  obstacles  before  him  and  the 
reluctance  within  him  are  broken  ;  the  chains  behind 
him  are  broken  too ;  he  is  regenerated  and  he  is  for- 
given. It  is  the  perfect  liberty  of  the  child  of  God. 
I  know  that  I  have  not  justly  described  the  new 
life  that  the  Saviour  gives.  No  man  can  tell  it 
worthily,  for  it  is  infinite ;  but  just  as  one  man  may 
say  to  another,  "  Do  you  see  the  ocean  or  the  sun- 
set ?  "  and  the  words  may  open  before  that  other's 
eyes  a  glory  that  no  words  can  tell,  so  to  souls  which 
stand  close  to  it,  which  perhaps  are  within  its  light 
already,  the  feeblest  word  may  open  the  richness  of 
the  new  life  of  Christ.  I  am  only  anxious  that  you 
should  know  how  real  it  is, — no  fancy,  no  theory, 
but  the  true  story  of  human  life.  Is  it  mysterious  ? 
Who  dares  look  at  the  mysterious  life  of  man  and 


270  THE  LAW  OF  THE  SPIRIT  OF  LIFE. 

feel  that  anything  but  an  account  that  is  full  of 
mystery  can  satisfy  that  life  ?  Is  it  sad  ?  What 
can  be  sadder  than  this  life,  divided  between  hope- 
less apathy  and  hopeless  struggle,  which  millions  of 
men  are  living.  O  how  sad  it  is!  Does  it  break 
into  a  bewildering  splendor  of  promise  ?  What 
promise  can  be  too  splendid  for  the  child  of  God  to 
whom  His  Father  promises  Himself! 

Only  believe  that  this  is  the  possible  story  of  your 
life,  and  then  take  it  up  and  realize  it.  Only  see 
the  possibility  of  freedom  as  clearly  as  you  feel  the 
present  slavery.  Then,  in  the  Lord's  impartial 
love,  there  is  no  reason  why  your  voice  should  not 
join  in  with  Paul's  and  all  the  rest  whom  we  hear 
singing  their  freedom  in  the  New  Jerusalem  on 
which  the  Bible  opens, — "  Worthy  the  Lamb  who 
hath  redeemed  us."  "  The  law  of  the  spirit  of  life 
in  Jesus  Christ  has  made  us  free  from  the  law  of  sin 
and  death." 


XVI. 

THE   SECRET   OF   THE  LORD. 

'*  The  secret  of  the  Lord  is  with  them  that  fear  him."— PsALM 
XXV.  14, 

Every  living  thing  which  is  really  worth  the 
knowing  has  a  secret  in  it  which  can  be  known  only 
to  a  few.  The  forms  and  methods  of  things  lie 
open  to  whoever  chooses  to  study  them,  but  the 
essential  lives  of  things  are  hidden  away  where  some 
special  sympathy  must  find  them.  We  can  all  rec- 
ognize how  true  this  is  of  men.  A  certain  shrewd 
observation  of  mankind  soon  lets  us  into  the  ordi- 
nary laws  of  human  working.  A  careful  watching 
of  any  fellow-man  soon  lets  us  understand  his  laws, 
and  we  can  say  pretty  surely  how  he  will  act  in  any 
certain  circumstances;  but  behind  all  such  shrewd 
observations  and  all  that  they  discover  there  is 
something  that  every  man  holds  back  from  us ;  and 
the  more  of  a  man  he  is,  the  more  conscious  we  are 
of  this  reserve.  It  is  this  secret  of  men  that  gives 
them  their  interest.  They  are  not  mere  machines 
whose  mechanism  you  can  completely  master.  The 
man  is  in  behind  and  deeper  than  his  actions. 
Many  a  man's  actions  you  comprehend,  but  only 

271 


2/2  THE   SECRET   OF   THE   LORD. 

with  a  very  few  do  you  feel  that  you  have  really  got 
hold  of  the  secret  of  the  man.  You  know  the  out- 
side of  a  hundred  houses  in  town,  but  only  of  your 
own  and  one  or  two  others  do  you  know  the  inner 
chambers. 

The  more  of  a  man  a  man  is,  the  more  secret  is 
the  secret  of  his  life,  and  the  more  plain  and  frank 
are  its  external  workings.  A  small  and  shallow  man 
tries  to  throw  a  mystery  about  the  mere  methods  of 
his  life,  he  tries  to  make  his  ways  of  living  seem  ob- 
scure. Where  he  goes,  how  he  makes  his  fortune, 
whom  he  talks  with,  what  his  words  mean,  who  his 
friends  are, — he  is  very  mysterious  about  all  these, 
and  all  because  the  secret  of  his  life  is  really  weak, 
because  he  is  conscious  that  there  is  no  really  strong 
purpose  of  living  which  he  himself  understands.  It 
is  a  shallow  pool  which  muddies  its  surface  to  make 
itself  look  deep.  But  a  greater  man  will  be  perfectly 
frank  and  unmysterious  about  these  little  things. 
Anybody  may  know  what  he  does  and  where  he 
goes.  His  acts  will  be  transparent,  his  words  will 
be  intelligible.  Yet  all  the  while  everyone  who 
looks  at  him  will  see  that  there  is  something  behind 
all,  which  escapes  the  closest  observation.  The  very 
clearness  of  the  surface  will  show  how  deep  the 
water  is,  how  far  away  the  bottom  lies.  There  is 
hardly  a  better  way  to  tell  a  great  man  from  a  little 
one. 

Whether  we  can  discover  such  a  secret  of  life  in 
other  men  or  not,  every  one  is  more  or  less  aware  of 
it  in  himself.  We  all  know  how  little  other  people 
know  about  us.     The  common  saying  that  other 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE   LORD.  273 

people  know  us  better  than  we  know  ourselves  is 
only  very  superficially  true.  They  do  see  certain 
tricks  in  us  which  we  are  not  aware  of  ;  they  do  see 
the  absurdities  of  some  of  our  behavior  which  we 
think  is  dignified ;  but,  if  we  are  at  all  thoughtful 
and  self-observant,  they  do  not  get  at  the  secret  of 
our  life  as  we  know  it.  They  do  not  know  the 
mainspring,  the  master-motive  as  we  do  who  feel  it 
slowly  unwinding  and  moving  all  the  mechanism. 
It  often  arms  us  and  puts  vigor  in  us  to  be  sure  of 
this.  Our  light  behavior  may  be  regulated  by  a 
reference  to  men's  superior  knowledge  of  it,  but  no 
man  can  live  strongly  who  is  not  sure  that  after  all 
he  understands  himself  better  than  any  other  man 
can  understand  him.  His  own  conscience,  his  own 
consciousness  he  must  not  despise.  He  is  only  a 
miserable  weathercock  if  he  does. 

Such  is  the  secrecy  of  a  man's  secret.  But  still 
there  are  with  all  of  us  some  men  who  possess  our 
secret  more  or  less.  The  secret  of  a  man's  life  I 
have  made  to  consist  in  its  purpose.  It  is  its  spirit, 
its  intention.  Any  man  may  know  what  I  do,  but 
hardly  any  man  can  know  as  I  know  myself  what  I 
know  by  doing  it.  It  is  the  same  with  every  living 
thing.  Nature  with  her  great  life  has  her  botanists 
who  tell  us  what  she  does  with  wonderful  accuracy, 
and  she  has  her  poets  who  catch  her  meaning  and 
her  spirit.  The  institutions  of  our  land  show  their 
workings  to  every  keen-eyed  politician,  but  they 
open  their  heart,  their  genius,  only  to  a  few  philo- 
sophic statesmen. 

Now  with  regard  to  men,  we  can  see  something  of 
18 


274  THE   SECRET  OF  THE  LORD. 

what  is  necessary  before  one  can  read  another's 
secret.  Who  is  it  that  can  really  get  at  the  motive, 
the  genius  of  your  life  ?  What  must  his  qualifica- 
tions be  ?  It  is  not  mere  curiosity, — we  know  how 
that  shuts  up  the  nature  which  it  tries  to  read.  It 
is  not  mere  awkward  good-will ;  that,  too,  crushes 
the  flower  which  it  tries  to  examine.  What  is  it  ? 
It  must  have  certain  elements  in  it  which  Ave  all 
know.  And  the  first,  the  most  fundamental,  the 
most  necessary  of  them  all,  is  respect.  Just  think 
of  it.  You  cannot  show  the  real  secret  of  your  life, 
the  spring  and  power  of  your  living,  to  any  man  who 
does  not  respect  you.  Not  merely  you  will  not,  but 
you  cannot.  Is  it  not  so  ?  A  man  comes  with  im- 
pertinent curiosity  and  looks  into  your  window,  and 
you  shut  it  in  his  face  indignantly.  A  friend  comes 
strolling  by  and  gazes  in  with  easy  carelessness,  not 
making  much  of  what  you  may  be  doing,  not  think- 
ing it  of  much  importance,  and  before  him  you  cover 
up  instinctively  the  work  which  was  serious  to  you 
and  make  believe  that  you  were  only  playing  games. 
So  it  is  when  men  try  to  get  hold  of  the  secret  of 
your  life.  No  friendship,  no  kindliness,  can  make 
you  show  it  to  them  unless  they  evidently  really 
feel  as  you  feel  that  it  is  a  serious  and  sacred  thing. 
There  must  be  something  like  reverence  or  awe 
about  the  way  that  they  approach  you.  It  is  the 
way  in  which  children  shut  themselves  up  before 
their  elders  because  they  know  their  elders  have  no 
such  sense  as  they  have  of  the  importance  of  their 
childish  thoughts  and  feelings. 

Now  it  is  just  this  respect,  this  reverence,  I  take  it, 


THE  -SECRET  OF  THE  LORD.  2/5 

that  is  expressed  in  my  text  by  the  word  fear.  You 
must  believe  that  there  is  something  deep  in  nature 
or  you  will  find  nothing  there.  You  must  have  an 
awe  of  the  mystery  and  sacredness  in  your  fellow- 
man,  or  his  mystery  and  sacredness  will  escape  you. 
And  this  sense  of  mystery  and  sacredness  is  what  we 
gather  into  that  word  fear.  It  is  the  feeling  with 
which  you  step  across  the  threshold  of  a  great 
deserted  temple  or  into  some  vast  dark  mysterious 
cavern.  It  is  not  terror.  That  would  make  one  turn 
and  run  away.  Terror  is  a  blinding  and  deafening 
emotion.  Terror  shuts  up  the  apprehension.  You 
do  not  get  at  the  secret  of  anything  which  frightens 
you,  but  fear,  as  we  use  it  now,  is  quite  a  different 
emotion.  It  is  a  large,  deep  sense  of  the  majesty 
and  importance  of  anything,  a  reverence  and  respect 
for  it.  Without  that  no  man  can  understand 
another.  And  so  "  The  secret  of  a  man  is  with 
them  that  fear  him. ' ' 

And  now  we  pass  over  to  our  text.  David  speaks 
of  the  "  Secret  of  the  Lord."  Have  we  not 
reached  some  sort  of  notion  of  what  he  means  by 
that  and  by  what  he  says  of  it,  that  it  "is  with 
them  that  fear  Him  "  ?  God's  works  are  every- 
where. The  world  is  full  of  them,  and  any  man 
with  open  and  observing  eyes  may  know  a  great 
deal  about  God  from  all  His  works.  It  is  not  hard 
to  read  His  power.  His  wisdom  shines  upon  us 
from  a  multitude  of  adaptations.  But  all  the  time 
we  know  these  are  not  God.  Somewhere  behind 
them  all,  somewhere  within  them,  moving  them  all 
and  yet  infinitely  greater   and  more  spiritual  than 


2/6  THE   SECRET  OF  THE  LORD. 

all  of  them,  there  is  He,  the  Maker  and  the  Guidcr 
of  the  whole.  He  has  His  inner  character.  He  has 
His  dispositions  towards  us  whom  these  works  of 
His  touch  at  last.  He  has  His  purposes  and  inten- 
tions in  them  all. 

And  some  souls  we  can  see  that  seem  to  have 
attained  to  and  to  live  in  all  this.  How  clearly  it 
marks  the  difference  between  two  classes  of  believers 
in  and  servants  of  God  !  One  knows  God's  methods 
and  tries  to  do  His  will,  sees  what  He  wants  and 
catches  it  up  and  tries  hard  to  accomplish  it,  works 
on  from  task  to  task,  taking  each  as  it  is  given  but 
not  knowing  in  the  least  what  it  all  means,  only 
knowing  that  God  has  ordered  it.  That  is  one  sort 
of  life.  We  will  not  dare  disparage  it.  It  stirs  up 
our  enthusiasm  as  we  gaze  upon  it.  But  there  is 
another  which  we  know  is  better.  Another  soul 
does  understand  what  God  means  by  it  all,  does 
enter  into  God's  idea.  It  sees  the  love  which  lies 
behind  every  commandment  and,  continually  cogni- 
zant of  the  perfect  divine  nature,  it  feels  at  once 
how  far  it  is  from  that  nature,  and  knows  that  the 
one  purpose  which  God  has  concerning  it  is  to  draw 
it  towards  and  shape  it  into  Himself.  The  making 
of  man  like  Himself  by  the  power  of  love, — that, 
in  one  word,  is  the  purpose  of  God  which  this  soul 
sees,  feels  everywhere,  enlightening,  interpreting 
everything.     That  is  the  secret  of  the  Lord ! 

My  dear  friends,  do  not  say  that  such  an  idea  as 
that  can  really  make  no  difference,  that  one  man  may 
have  possession  of  it,  and  another  may  not  have  it, 
and  yet  their  lives  be  just  alike.     Rather  think  how 


THE   SECRET   OF   THE   LORD.  2// 

different  your  life  would  be  if  you  had  everywhere 
and  always  this  secret  of  the  Lord.  What  is  your 
life  ?  Is  it  this  circle  of  actions  that  men  see  ? 
Perhaps  it  might  not  alter.  Perhaps  you  might  go 
on  rising  and  sleeping,  eating  and  drinking,  and 
doing  business,  just  as  you  do  now.  But  if  your 
life  really  is  the  way  you  do  these  things,  the  com- 
fort and  the  culture  that  you  get  out  of  them,  the 
good  you  do  to  others  and  yourself  by  doing  them, 
would  not  that  all  be  altered  if  in  every  one  of  them 
you  knew  and  felt  the  presence  and  power  of  God 
loving  you  tenderly,  and  by  His  love  making  you 
like  Himself.  The  hammer  strikes  the  iron  that  is 
on  the  anvil,  and  if  the  iron  knows  only  the  power 
of  the  hammer  it  yields  doggedly  and  hardly  to  the 
blows.  But  behind  the  power  is  a  purpose.  In 
the  fine  and  gentle  brain  of  Him  who  holds  the  ham- 
mer is  a  thought  of  beauty,  an  untold,  unembodied 
fancy,  a  secret  which  He  is  purposing  to  work  out 
into  expression  in  this  stiff,  black  iron.  Let  the 
iron  grow  conscious  of  that  purpose,  let  the  secret 
of  the  worker  be  with  the  material  on  which  he 
works,  and  will  it  make  no  difference  ?  The  enthu- 
siasm of  the  worker  enters  into  the  work.  It  strug- 
gles itself  towards  its  destined  shape.  Every  blow 
that  falls  on  it  is  a  delight.  The  rigid  vine  tries  to 
curl  itself  in  leaves  and  round  itself  in  fruit.  All  life 
has  entered  into  it  with  the  secret  of  its  Lord. 

It  seems  as  if,  looking  back  in  history,  we  could 
see  certain  ages  which  evidently  had,  and  certain 
other  ages  which  had  not,  the  secret  of  the  Lord. 
There  have  been  times  when  the  general  heart  of 


278  THE   SECRET   OF    THE   LORD. 

men  seemed  to  be  impressed  with  the  spiritual  pur- 
poses of  God,  times  when  the  Hfe  was  more  than 
meat  to  multitudes  of  men.  The  certainty  that 
God  meant  something  spiritual  by  it  all  has  run 
through  everything;  it  has  inspired  the  king  upon 
his  throne,  the  general  at  his  army's  head,  and  the 
women  at  their  work.  Blunders  enough  such  times 
have  to  show,  more  blunders  than  the  times  which 
smoothed  all  the  great  deeps  of  purpose  out  of  the 
world  and  thought  that  God  had  no  secret.  It  is 
not  strange  that  hard  and  clumsy  hands  should  make 
their  blunders  just  in  proportion  to  the  fineness  of 
the  things  they  handle.  But  still  these  spiritual 
times,  such  times  as  those  of  the  great  Reformation, 
stand  out  forever  in  their  difference  from  other  ages, 
touched  with  a  diviner  color,  and  lifting  up  their 
heads  with  a  more  humble  and  majestic  dignity. 

We  know  in  our  own  lives,  I  am  sure,  something 
of  such  a  difference.  Some  times  there  have  been 
when  God's  secret  has  been  with  us,  when  this  divine 
purpose,  the  making  of  us  into  a  holiness  like  His 
own,  has  shone  out  everywhere.  It  has  startled  us 
when  we  least  expected  it.  It  has  lurked  in  our 
pleasures  and  our  pains;  we  have  unfolded  some  joy 
which  chance  seemed  to  have  dropped  in  our  way, 
and  there  it  was;  we  have  taken  up  some  burden 
that  lay  in  our  path,  and  there  it  was  again.  We 
have  followed  out  a  friendship,  and  by  and  by  we 
have  seen  how  through  that  friendship  God  was 
bringing  us  to  Himself.  Again,  a  friendship  has 
snapped  and  broken,  and  in  its  ruin  we  have  found 
the  same  purpose  manifest ;  we  and  our  friend  were 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  LORD.        279 

to  go  by  different  roads,  but  both  to  go  still  to  the 
same  end,  to  holiness  in  God.  Sometimes,  it  may 
be,  such  a  perception  of  God's  purposes,  such  a  hold 
on  the  secret  of  the  Lord,  has  been  with  us  for  a 
long  time ;  and  then  perhaps  we  have  lost  it ;  it  has 
seemed  incredible  that  there  was  any  spiritual  mean- 
ing in  life.  Mere  duties,  duties,  duties,  hard  and 
objectless,  waves  out  of  a  mysterious  ocean  of  divine 
authority,  which  brought  no  word  from  the  divine 
character,  which  said  nothing  intelligible  to  us,  have 
beat  monotonously  on  our  life.  But  we  could  never 
quite  forget  the  sight  that  we  had  seen ;  we  never 
could  deny  that  there  was  a  purpose  though  we  had 
lost  sight  of  it,  that  God  had  a  secret  though  we  had 
lost  it. 

Let  us  not  think  that  this  strange,  painful  alterna- 
tive comes  of  God's  design,  God's  secret  is  not  kept 
secret  by  any  arbitrary  cruelty  of  His.  He  does 
not  tantalize  or  taunt  us.  He  shows  all  of  us  always 
all  of  Himself  that  He  can.  That  is  the  basis  of  all 
faith  about  Him.  Without  believing  that  first  of  all, 
we  could  believe  nothing.  And  the  Incarnation  was 
the  opening  of  every  door  into  this  secret  of  God, — 
this  deep  abiding  spiritual  purpose  of  His  nature. 
Whoever  really  knows  Christ  knows  God's  secret — 
"  that  men  may  be  perfect  even  as  He  is." 

It  is  strange  indeed  as  we  look  back  to  see  how 
men  have  cheated  themselves  with  strange  beliefs 
about  the  way  in  which  God,  the  great  Father,  gave 
the  knowledge  of  Himself  to  His  children.  "  There 
was  a  secret  of  the  Lord," — that  men  understood 
full  well,  a  close  and  loving  friendship  which  let  man 


28o  THE   SECRET   OF   THE   LORD. 

into  the  deep  purposes  of  God — and  some  men  had 
this  secret  and  delighted  in  it,  and  other  men,  wish- 
ing perhaps  that  they  had  it,  went  through  Hfe  with- 
out it.  What  made  the  difference  ?  And  it  was 
natural  for  men  to  think  of  favoritism,  to  get  some 
idea  of  arbitrary  preference,  of  some  election,  by 
which  God  gave  to  one  choice  child  what  He  denied 
to  the  rest.  There  is  always  this  tendency  to  make 
that  arbitrary  which  is  essential.  It  seems  as  if  it  in 
some  way  relieved  the  burden  of  thought  and  re- 
sponsibility. But  any  idea  of  election  is  really  at 
war  with  man's  primary  thought  of  God,  and  ulti- 
mately makes  men  sceptics.  The  only  tenable  idea 
is  that  God  will  give  Himself  just  as  largely  and  as 
speedily  to  man  as  is  possible.  Live  in  that  idea  as 
the  first  certainty  of  your  religion,  always,  I  beg 
you.  And  the  possibility  must  depend  on  man's 
receptive  power.  The  impossibility,  if  there  is  any, 
must  be  not  in  God,  but  in  man.  That,  too,  is  sure. 
Now  it  is  just  this  receptive  power  which  is  described 
here  under  the  great  word,  fear.  Apply  to  God  all 
that  we  said  of  man,  and  we  shall  know  what  fear 
means  here.  It  is  that  large  awful  sense  of  God's 
nature  which  opens  our  nature  to  His  coming  in.  It 
is  not  that  fear  which  love  "  casts  out,"  but  a  fear 
which  abides  with  and  makes  part  of  and  is  essential 
to  entire  love.  Tell  me,  can  you  ever  love  any  per- 
son perfectly  whom  you  do  not  also  fear,  for  whom 
you  have  not  some  such  reverence  as  makes  you 
dread  to  hurt  or  to  offend  them,  whose  anger  you 
are  not  afraid  of  ?  Men  call  it  love  sometimes  when 
these  are  absent,  but  love  without  respect  has  lost 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  LORD.        28 1 

the  substance  and  the  essence  of  itself,  and  is  mere 
passion.  Men  say,  "  I  cannot  love  God  if  I  have  to 
fear  Him."  My  dear  friend,  I  always  want  to  say, 
you  cannot  love  God  unless  you  fear  Him,  that  is 
the  true  truth. 

There  is  indeed  something  Old  Testament-like  in 
the  specification  of  fear  as  the  quality  to  which  God 
can  reveal  Himself  most  deeply.  But  the  Old  Tes- 
tament and  the  New  Testament  are  not  in  conflict. 
At  the  bottom  they  are  really  one.  They  show  the 
brazen  and  the  silver  sides  of  the  same  truth.  And 
very  often  now  I  think  we  feel  the  need,  both  for 
ourselves  and  other  people,  of  the  Old  Testament 
side  of  truth.  We  cannot  overestimate  the  love  of 
God.  We  cannot  say  too  often  to  ourselves,  "  God 
loves  us."  But  there  is  something — have  we  not  all 
felt  it  as  we  have  read  the  religious  books  and  lis- 
tened to  a  good  deal  of  the  preaching  that  is  most 
in  vogue  ? — there  is  something  of  an  easy  familiarity 
with  God,  which  loses  His  secret.  The  frightened 
devotee  who  stands  afar  off  and  in  mortal  terror 
sends  his  prayers  through  a  multitude  of  intermedi- 
aries to  a  God  whom  he  dare  not  approach,  he  cer- 
tainly is  not  learning  deeply  of  God,  the  secret  of 
God  is  not  with  him.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  the 
ready  zealot,  who  pours  his  gushing  prayers  into 
the  divine  ear  as  he  would  talk  to  his  own  boon  com- 
panion, neither  is  he  understanding  the  Almighty. 
Always  there  is  before  us  that  figure  of  the  publican, 
who  would  not  lift  up  so  much  as  his  eyes  to  heaven, 
who  beat  upon  his  breast.  There  was  fear,  but  there 
was  love  certainly,  and  there  was  knowledge  cer- 


282  THE   SECRET   OF  THE   LORD. 

tainly.  One  misses  very  often,  in  our  modern  feel- 
ing towards  God,  that  exquisite  mingling  of  reverence 
and  familiarity  which  we  see  in  the  apostles'  inter- 
course with  Christ.  As  soon  as  religion  becomes 
trustful  and  affectionate,  it  is  apt  to  grow  weakly 
sentimental  and  fondly  garrulous.  The  mediaeval 
nun  talking  of  Christ  like  a  mortal  lover,  or  the  mod- 
ern exhorter  singing  of  Jesus  as  if  He  were  to  be 
won  by  fulsome  epithets  and  pathetic  tunes — in 
these  we  feel  the  lack  of  something  solid  and  serene 
and  simple  which  was  in  Peter  and  in  John.  What 
was  that  something  ?  How  can  we  name  it  except 
thus,  that  it  was  the  fear  of  Jesus  ?  As  we  read  all 
their  life  with  Him,  and  see  them  calmly  gathering 
more  and  more  of  Him  into  themselves,  it  seems  as 
if  those  words  told  the  whole  story.  The  secret  of 
their  Lord  was  with  them  because  they  feared  Him. 
Sometimes  we  can  seem  to  see  such  a  Christianity 
now.  Earnest  without  excitement,  loving  without 
familiarity,  a  man  or  a  woman  is  always  near  to 
Christ  and  yet  never  touches  Him,  never  speaks  His 
name,  without  awe.  None  of  the  first  sacredness 
has  melted  away  with  time.  The  prayer  to-night  is 
fuller  of  the  sense  of  what  a  stupendous  thing  it  is 
to  pray,  than  was  the  first  faltering  petition.  Duty 
by  which  the  soul  expresses  itself  to  God  is  quiet 
and  not  feverish,  but  full  of  deep  delight  and  sacred- 
ness. Love  deepens  every  hour,  but  reverence  is 
always  deepening  with  it,  and  to  this  ever-deepening 
reverence  and  love  the  nature  and  purposes  of  God 
are  always  opening;  and  so  in  such  a  life,  not  far 
off  in  the  apostolic  ages,  but  walking  here  among  us 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE   LORD.  283 

now,    the   same   truth   is   fulfilled   again,    and    the 
"  secret  of  the  Lord  is  with  them  that  fear  Him." 

How,  then,  can  we  know  God  ?  Men  bring  their 
different  directions,  and  we  take  them  all  and  see 
some  good  in  almost  all  of  them,  but  after  all  we 
come  to  this,  that  the  only  good  in  any  of  them 
must  be  in  the  power  they  have  to  bring  in  us  a 
loving  fear  of  God,  to  which  alone  enlightenment 
can  come. 

One  man  says,  "  If  you  want  to  know  God,  you 
must  be  punctilious  about  religious  duty ;  you  must 
go  to  church ;  you  must  omit  no  form ;  you  must  be 
where  God  is;  so  you  shall  see  Him."  Yes,  just  so 
far  as  rite  or  sacrament  does  really  show  you  His 
majesty,  just  so  far  as  all  these  things  do  really  make 
it  a  more  terrible  thing  to  you  to  do  what  God  dis- 
allows, just  so  far  they  are  rich  in  revelation.  Not 
in  themselves !  They  are  mere  windows ;  keep  them 
pure  and  hold  them  Godward  and  then  through  them 
you  shall  see  God. 

Another  man  has  quite  another  thing  to  say.  To 
know  God  you  must  go  among  His  works;  His 
world  will  tell  you  of  Him.  Not  in  the  church  but 
in  the  woods;  not  out  of  the  Bible  but  out  of  the 
sky  you  will  read  what  He  is.  Again,  remember,  if 
that  be  the  religion  to  which  you  are  most  drawn, 
that  no  flush  of  delight  in  nature,  no  exaltation  in 
the  opening  spring  or  sober  seriousness  of  autumn 
days,  does  really  bring  God's  secret  to  you  unless  it 
really  gives  you  a  personal  fear  of  Him,  a  dread  of 
wronging  Him,  a  jealous,  loving  watchfulness  over 
yourself  for  His  sake. 


284  THE   SECRET   OF   THE   LORD. 

I  know  that  Christ  Himself  had  this.  The  fear  of 
God,  a  fear  that  is  sublimely  compatible  with  love, 
— we  talk  of  it,  we  try  to  picture  what  it  is,  but  look 
at  Him  and  see  it  perfectly.  Was  not  He  always 
fearing  God  ?  Was  there  a  dread  in  all  His  life  like 
the  dread  of  doing  what  God  would  not  wish  ? 
And  yet  what  love!  Into  that  loving  fear  flowed 
the  whole  secret  of  the  Lord,  that  knowledge  of  the 
Father  that  made  the  Son's  perfect  unity  with 
Him. 

Both  in  the  temple  and  in  the  world  of  nature 
Jesus  gathered  this  fear  and  all  the  knowledge  that 
it  brought.  From  both  of  them  we  may  gather  it 
too,  but  most  of  all,  above  both  these,  we  are  to 
gather  it  from  Him.  There  is  the  final  answer  to 
one  question  which  I  most  wish  to  leave  with  you. 
How  shall  I  have  God's  secret  ?  By  fearing  Him! 
How  shall  I  fear  Him  ?  By  most  clearly  seeing 
Him!  How  shall  I  see  Him  ?  Here,  where  He  is 
manifest  in  Christ.  Really  know  Him.  Get  truly 
face  to  face  with  that  Person.  By  true  obedience 
understand  what  He  is,  and  then  the  fearfulness  of 
God,  the  greatness  of  His  nature  and  His  love  will 
take  possession  of  you,  and  in  that  atmosphere  the 
secret  of  the  Lord  shall  come  to  you  and  be  with 
you.  Can  you  understand  that  ?  Is  there  anything 
in  your  experience  already  to  interpret  it  ?  Have 
you  indeed  found  that,  as  you  knew  Christ  more, 
God  was  more  full  of  majesty  and  more  near  to  you 
both  at  once  ?  Then  keep  on!  Heaven  at  last  will 
be  the  perfect  sight  of  Christ.     To  them  that  see 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  LORD.        285 

Him  perfectly  the  fear  of  God  will  come,  a  fear  full 
of  love  and  glory ;  and  then  through  the  fear  will 
come  the  knowledge,  and  the  secret  of  the  Lord  shall 
be  with  those  that  fear  Him  more  and  more  perfectly 
forever. 


XVII. 

THE   GREAT   ATTAINMENT. 

**  Worthy  to  stand  before  the  Son  of  man." — Luke  xxi.  36. 

There  is  all  through  the  Bible  as  there  is  all 
through  the  best  and  most  earnest  thought  and  life 
of  men  the  vision  of  a  great  attainment.  That  man, 
the  individual  man  and  the  universal  man,  is  what 
he  is  only  in  preparation  for  something  far  vaster 
and  more  perfect  that  he  is  to  be, — this  is  the  prac- 
tical doctrine  of  all  earnest  and  religious  men.  It 
appears  in  all  religions.  It  appears  in  all  the  earnest 
life  which  will  not  call  itself  religious — this  doctrine 
of  the  great  attainment,  this  belief  and  the  lofty 
something  which  it  is  possible  for  man  to  become, 
although  no  man,  purely  man,  has  become  it  yet. 
What  would  the  world  be  without  that  belief  ? 
How  the  hearts  of  men  have  fed  on  it  and  lived 
by  it !  It  has  kept  them  from  despair  and  been  their 
light  in  darkness,  the  soul  of  their  life-long  struggle. 

In  the  religion  of  Christ  the  doctine  of  the  great 
attainment  puts  on  its  full  glory  and  takes  its  central 
place.  Always  there  is  something  which  humanity 
in  general  and  which  this  man  and  that  man  by  him- 
self is  struggling  to  become.     It  is  not  wholly  clear. 

286 


THE  GREAT  ATTAINMENT.  287 

It  cannot  be  because  no  man  has  reached  it  and 
measured  it  and  brought  back  the  report.  No  re- 
port which  the  man  who  had  reached  it  could  bring 
back  would  be  intelligible  to  those  who  were  still  far 
away  from  the  completeness  of  which  they  were 
told.  But  dimly  as  it  has  been  known,  its  real  ex- 
istence has  been  the  central  truth  of  Christianity. 

And  the  Christian  teachings  have  viewed  this  great 
attainment  from  many  sides  and  have  given  to  it 
many  names.  Sometimes  they  have  simply  called  it 
"  being  perfect,"  sometimes  they  have  seemed  anx- 
ious to  bind  it  more  closely  to  Christ  and  represent 
that  it  was  only  attainable  in  Him.  And  then  they 
have  used  such  phrases  as  this  which  Jesus  uses  in 
our  text,  the  phrase  of  which  I  want  to  speak  to 
you  this  morning. 

Jesus  bids  his  disciples  to  watch  and  pray  so  that 
they  "  may  be  accounted  worthy  to  escape  all  these 
things  which  are  to  come  to  pass,  "  and  "  to  stand 
before  the  Son  of  man."  He  has  been  telling  his 
disciples  of  wonderful  things  which  are  to  come. 
"  Signs  in  the  sun  and  in  the  moon  and  in  the  stars, 
and  upon  the  earth  distress  of  nations  with  perplex- 
ity, the  sea  and  the  waves  roaring.  Men's  hearts 
failing  them  for  fear  and  for  looking  after  those 
things  which  are  coming  on  the  earth,  for  the  pow- 
ers of  heaven  shall  be  shaken.  And  then  shall  they 
see  the  Son  of  man  coming  in  a  cloud  with  power 
and  great  glory."  The  great  result  and  consumma- 
tion of  all  the  mighty  changes  which  are  to  take 
place  in  the  earth  is  to  be  "  the  coming  of  the  Son 
of  man."     And  then  Jesus  looks  his  disciples  in  the 


288  THE   GREAT  ATTAINMENT. 

face  and  says,   "  Watch  and  pray  that  ye  may  be 
counted  worthy  to  stand  before  this  Son  of  man." 

As  I  look  at  these  great  words  and  try  to  under- 
stand them,  I  think  there  are  three  questions  which 
we  want  to  ask  and  answer: 

1.  Who  is  the  Son  of  man  who  is  to  come  ? 

2.  What  is  meant  by  His  coming  ? 

3.  What  is  it  to  stand  before  Him  when  He 
comes  ? 

Let  me  say  something  upon  each  one  of  these 
questions. 

I.  Who  is  the  Son  of  man  ?  There  cannot  be  a 
doubt  in  the  mind  of  any  one  who  stands  there  in 
the  Jewish  temple,  and  hears  these  words  spoken 
by  Jesus,  that  He  who  speaks  is  speaking  of  Him- 
self. He  is  the  Son  of  man.  But  the  words  have 
a  history.  In  the  Old  Testament  there  are  certain 
passages  in  which  all  men  are  called  the  sons  of  man. 
The  Scripture  never  shrinks  from  that  broad  truth, 
though  it  is  always  ready  to  go  beyond  it  and  declare 
that  there  are  certain  men  to  whom  the  sacred  name 
peculiarly  belongs.  David  says  freely,  "  Lord,  what 
is  man  that  thou  art  mindful  of  him,  or  the  Son  of 
man  that  thou  so  regardest  him  ?"  There  every 
man  is  a  "  son  of  man."  But  by  and  by,  in  a  more 
restricted  way,  we  find  the  name  given  peculiarly  to 
men  who  are  representative  men,  to  men  in  whom 
the  qualities  and  functions  of  all  men  seem  to 
be  especially  embodied.  Thus  it  is  given  to  the 
prophets,  those  men  among  men,  who  spoke  for 
all  humanity  to  God  and  to  whom  God  spoke  for  all 
humanity.       Eighty  times  the  prophet    Ezekiel  is 


THE  GREAT  ATTAINMENT.  289 

addressed  by  God  under  this  title,  "  Son  of  man." 
Then  next  the  name  was  taken  up  and  used  for  one 
of  the  titles  of  the  Messiah,  that  mysterious,  ever- 
expected  utterance  of  God  in  human  life  which  never 
left  the  Hebrew's  mind.  "  Behold  one  like  the  Son 
of  man,"  says  Daniel,  "  came  with  the  clouds  of 
heaven,  and  came  to  the  ancient  of  days."  Every- 
where in  the  Old  Testament  the  "  Son  of  man  " 
tends  to  become  the  expression  of  manhood  in  its 
highest  representative,  where  it  comes  nearest  to, 
where  it  touches  upon  divinity.  All  the  while  as 
this  divine  identity  of  manhood  comes  forth  into 
utterance,  the  truest  manhood  is  finding  its  expres- 
sion, and  it  is  this  truest  humanity  made  truest  by 
being  most  deeply  filled  and  fired  with  divinity,  this 
it  is  which  wherever  it  is  found  is  called  the  Son  of 
man. 

No  wonder  then  that  when  the  New  Testament 
opens,  and  the  Incarnation  comes,  the  old  words 
should  be  taken  up  by  the  Incarnate  Son  of  God  and 
used  by  Him  as  one  of  His  favorite  descriptions  of 
Himself.  He  uses  the  words  of  Himself,  but  others 
do  not  use  them  of  Him.  No  one  but  Jesus  Him- 
self ever  calls  Jesus  the  Son  of  man.  It  is  the  decla- 
ration of  His  own  consciousness  that  because  His 
nature  was  the  human  nature  inhabited  and  inspired 
by  the  divine,  because  of  that  fact,  it  was  supremely 
the  human  nature.  He  was  the  truest  man  whose 
feet  had  ever  trodden  on  the  earth.  Because  He 
knew  Himself  the  Son  of  God,  He  loved  to  call 
Himself  the  Son  of  man. 

Are  there  not,  then,  two  answers  to  our  question, 

»9 


2gO  THE  GREAT   ATTAINMENT. 

Who  is  the  Son  of  man  ?  The  Son  of  man  is  Jesus 
Christ.  The  Son  of  man  is  the  complete,  the  rep- 
resentative, the  ideal  humanity.  And  yet  these 
answers  are  not  two  but  one.  The  Son  of  man  is 
the  complete  ideal  humanity  set  forth  in  Jesus 
Christ.  It  is  the  struggle  of  all  human  life  recog- 
nized as  reaching  its  great  attainment  in  Him  in 
whom  the  human  life  has  touched  and  joined  itself 
to  the  divine.  Children  heard  the  name  and  caught 
something  of  its  meaning  as,  looking  into  His  gra- 
cious face  who  blessed  them,  they  caught  sight  of 
the  goal  of  their  humanity  far,  far  away.  Young 
men  felt  their  human  souls  stirred  by  His  life  as  by 
a  bugle-call.  Men  in  this  middle  tumult  of  their 
active  years  felt  His  presence  as  the  element  which 
brought  them  intelligence  and  peace.  The  Son  of 
man, — the  world  has  loved  the  name  and  Him  who 
bore  it  because  it  answered  the  conviction  of  its  own 
heart  that  somewhere  there  was  a  perfect  man,  and 
that  the  perfect  man  was  the  true  man ! 

2.  And  then  our  second  question  follows — What 
is  meant  by  the  coming  of  the  Son  of  man  ?  Here 
is  the  world,  this  theatre  of  life.  Upon  its  stage 
come  men  and  generations.  In  itself  it  is  nothing 
but  a  scene  for  action.  The  action  of  man  which 
goes  on  upon  it  gives  it  its  dignity  and  meaning. 
Man  has  been  coming  and  going  in  all  the  acts  of 
the  long  drama.  And  now  see  what  is  meant  by 
the  tidings  which  sound  through  the  air  and  make 
the  whole  creation  start  and  tremble  with  expec- 
tancy. "  The  Son  of  man  is  coming!"  it  declares. 
"  The  Son  of  man!  "     That  is  the  perfect  man,  the 


THE   GREAT   ATTAINMENT.  29I 

very  manifested  soul  and  essence  of  humanity,  man 
full  of  divine  influences,  showing  forth  the  divine 
nature  that  is  in  Himself,  This  higher  man,  this 
perfect  man,  this  Son  of  man  is  coming. 

Again  I  pause  a  moment  just  to  think  what  a  sig- 
nificant meaning  there  is  in  the  phrase  "  The  Son 
of  man  "  as  representing  the  flower  and  perfection 
of  humanity.  The  son  always  is  the  flower  of  the 
father's  life.  The  son  draws  forth  into  himself  the 
essence  of  the  father's  being.  The  father  looks  into 
the  bright  face  of  his  eager,  fresh-hearted  son  and 
says,  "  There  is  myself  without  the  base  things 
which  have  fastened  themselves  to  myself,  without 
my  habits,  my  prejudices,  my  hatred,  and  my 
doubts.  There  is  my  pure  self.  There  is  what  God 
made  me  to  be."  A  million  disillusionings  will  not 
forbid  the  father  of  to-day  to  look  in  his  boy's  face 
and  see  there  the  flower  and  perfection  of  himself. 
The  son  of  any  man  is  that  man  showing  himself  his 
real  belonging  to  a  higher  life.  And  just  exactly  so 
the  Son  of  man  in  general  is  man  in  general  show- 
ing himself,  his  intrinsic  divinity,  his  real  belonging 
to  God ! 

We  all  believe  in  human  progress.  Let  us  ask 
ourselves  whether  there  is  a  more  beautiful  or  a 
more  intelligible  description  of  the  progress  which  we 
all  anticipate  than,  understood  as  I  have  tried  thus  to 
define  it,  is  the  expression,  "  The  coming  of  the 
Son  of  man."  It  declares  at  once  that  the  advance 
and  improvement  of  the  world  is  to  have  its  source 
and  soul  in  the  condition  of  its  human  inhabitant. 
Not  in  the  clearing  of  its  forests  and  the  unfolding 


292  THE   GREAT  ATTAINMENT. 

of  its  subterranean  treasures  and  the  exploring  of  its 
icy  fastnesses  and  the  redeeming  of  its  arid  plains, 
not  in  the  bridging  of  its  rivers  and  the  great  flights 
of  ships  like  flocks  of  birds  across  its  oceans ;  not  in 
these,  nor  in  any  material  victories  like  these,  does 
the  real  progress  of  the  world  consist.  Only  in  the 
coming  of  the  perfect  man,  only  in  the  Son  of  man, 
the  true  human  outcome  of  all  the  generations  of 
humanity,  leaving  all  that  is  corrupt  and  base  and 
bad  and  therefore  unhuman  behind,  bringing  forth 
into  clear  utterance  and  power  all  the  intrinsic  God- 
likeness  of  humanity — only  in  that,  only  so,  in  the 
coming  of  the  Son  of  man,  is  the  perfection  of  the 
world  to  come. 

Let  us  give  wings  to  our  imagination  for  a  mo- 
ment and  picture  to  ourselves  how,  in  one  or  two  of 
the  departments  of  life,  this  coming  of  the  Son  of 
man  is  needed ;  and  the  need  is  felt  more  perhaps 
to-day  than  ever  with  a  hopeful  expectation.  Look 
at  government.  What  is  the  meaning  of  the  Demo- 
cratic impulse  which  everywhere  is  taking  possession 
of  the  nations  ?  It  is  the  conviction  that  in  the 
government  of  man  by  man  lies  the  true  salvation  of 
the  world.  The  government  of  man  by  man !  Not 
by  this  man  or  that  man,  the  choice  of  chance,  the 
accident  of  birth,  not  with  any  reasonable  presump- 
tion uttering  the  better  nature  of  the  men  he  rules, 
but  the  government  of  man  and  man,  of  the  coarser, 
ruder,  more  brutal  body  of  a  nature  by  its  finer  soul, 
by  its  best  men,  set  up  to  rule  not  because  they  are 
intrinsically  different  from  the  nature  which  they 
govern,  but  because  they  are  its  true  self!     This  is 


THE   GREAT   ATTAINMENT.  293 

the  meaning  of  Republican  institutions.  This  is  the 
coming  of  the  Son  of  man  in  the  world's  politics. 

And  look  at  learning.  There  are  two  great  de- 
mands with  regard  to  learning  which,  I  suppose,  we 
can  all  hear  wandering  about,  now  louder  and  now 
fainter,  but  never  dying  out,  in  the  halls  of  our  col- 
leges and  in  the  conferences  of  the  men  who  talk 
about  education  to-day.  One  is  the  demand  that 
learning  should  be  useful;  the  other  is  the  demand 
that  learning  should  be  free — that  is,  not  arbitrarily 
confined  to  any  chosen  caste.  It  must  be  useful, 
and  it  must  be  free.  Not  as  the  ornament  or  luxury 
of  a  favored  few  must  those  truths  of  the  universe 
be  monopolized.  Almost  as  if  a  few  men  had  dug 
all  the  coin  which  the  earth  contains  to  build  great 
statues  for  their  palaces,  or  gathered  in  all  the  for- 
ests off  of  all  the  hills  to  keep  their  vast  halls  warm, 
so  does  it  seem  now  to  the  world  when  it  is  told  of 
how  in  other  days  wisdom  and  knowledge  were 
assumed  to  be  the  appropriate  possession  of  a 
learned  class  and  not  the  rightful  possession  of  all 
men.  Very  vaguely,  very  basely,  very  narrowly, 
the  usefulness  of  knowledge  no  doubt  often  is  con- 
ceived— but  the  idea  is  there.  It  is  the  human 
idea;  man,  all  men,  in  contrast  to  the  natural  world 
on  one  hand  and  to  the  interests  of  a  few  chosen 
men  upon  the  other;  knowledge,  the  servant  and 
the  food  of  man,  of  all  men — that  is  the  idea  of 
modern  education.  The  progress  of  that  idea  marks 
the  coming  of  the  Son  of  man  in  the  world  of 
learning. 

And  then,   again,   look  at  our  social  life,  at  all 


294  THE   GREAT  ATTAINMENT. 

which  man  has  to  do  with  fellow-man.  I  dare  not 
undertake  to  compare  the  present  with  the  past. 
One  so  easily  seems  to  become  enthusiastic  and 
optimistic  when  he  ventures  to  say  how  much  purer, 
how  much  loftier,  how  much  more  unselfish  the 
relations  of  men  with  one  another,  taken  at  large 
throughout  the  world,  are  in  our  generation  than 
they  have  ever  been  in  any  generation  before  this. 
But  let  us  simply  think  how  in  every  age  the  best 
minds,  the  best  souls  have  always  come  to  one  deep 
certainty  about  mankind — the  certainty  that  only 
in  unselfishness,  only  in  forgetfulness  of  themselves 
and  service  of  their  brethren,  could  men  come  to 
their  own  best  completion.  That  is  a  wonderful 
conviction  for  all  the  best  souls  in  all  ages  to  have 
reached.  It  involves  certain  great  convictions.  It 
involves  this  conviction  certainly — that  the  world's 
completion  is  to  come  about,  not  by  the  complete- 
ness of  the  single  soul,  but  by  a  broad  elevation  of 
the  whole  life  of  mankind,  in  ministering  to  which 
each  single  soul  will  gain  its  own  best  completeness, 
yet  not  as  an  end  but  as  a  means.  What  is  that 
but  the  coming  of  the  Son  of  man  in  social  life  ? 
When  there  the  Son  of  man  shall  have  come ;  when 
in  our  homes  and  churches  and  communities  there 
shall  have  come  forth,  out  of  the  turmoil  and  confu- 
sion of  our  imperfect  living,  the  perfect  pattern  of 
humanity,  the  true  social  self  of  man,  what  shall  we 
see  ?  Ah !  there  have  been,  there  are  now,  glimpses 
of  it  which  are  clear  enough  to  let  us  answer  the 
question.  We  shall  see — when  the  Son  of  man, 
when  the  perfect  man  shall  have  come  in  our  social 


THE   GREAT  ATTAINMENT.  295 

life — we  shall  see  such  an  unselfish  and  intelligent 
devotion  of  each  man  to  the  good  of  each  and  all  as 
shall  make  him  forget  himself,  and  in  his  self-forget- 
fulness  shall  win  for  him  the  best  and  noblest  char- 
acter; each  losing  himself  in  unselfishness  to  find 
himself  in  the  unconscious  growth  of  his  conse- 
crated manhood,  so  that,  as  the  result  of  all,  the 
great  self  of  society  and  the  subordinate  selfs  of 
which  this  great  self  of  society  is  made  up  are  all 
complete  in  mutual  ministries, — this  is  the  coming 
of  the  Son  of  man  in  social  life. 

In  government,  in  learning,  in  society,  the  coming 
of  the  Son  of  man  is  the  standing  forth,  suddenly  or 
slowly,  of  the  perfect  man,  from  the  midst  of  all  the 
fermentations  and  corruptions,  the  mistakes  and  the 
delays,  the  sins  and  sufferings,  of  human  history. 

"  A  glorious  picture!  "  you  say.  "  The  dream 
of  all  the  ages.  The  hope  of  all  philanthropic  and 
poetic  souls  ever  since  the  world  began !  "  But  then 
you  hesitate.  You  turn  back  to  the  pages  of  your 
Bible  with  a  troubled  air.  "  What  has  all  this  to 
do  with  Christ  ?  "  you  say.  "  I  thought  He  was  the 
Son  of  man.  I  thought  that  some  day  riding  upon 
the  glory  of  the  eastern  sunrise  or  issuing  from  the 
splendor  of  the  evening  sky,  Jesus,  the  Jesus  who 
went  years  ago  into  the  heaven  which  stooped  over 
the  Mount  of  Olives  to  receive  Him,  was  coming  in 
the  clouds  of  heaven  with  hosts  of  angels  for  His 
company.  This  is  what  I  have  been  looking  for,  and 
now  you  promise  me  the  gradual  improvement  of 
mankind.  Is  it  not  an  awful  disappointment  ?  Is 
not  the  vision  all  faded  and  colorless  when  you  thus 


296  THE   GREAT   ATTAINMENT. 

read  it  down  into  the  platitudes  of  the  platform 
orator  of  human  progress  ?  " 

I  know  the  feeling  which  such  words  express.  I 
know  how  eagerly  we  cling  to  the  picture  of  the 
opened  sky,  so  eagerly  that  often  we  are  in  danger 
of  not  thinking  what  it  must  mean  upon  the  earth 
for  Christ  to  come.  But  the  spirit  that  is  in  such  a 
protest  we  must  never  lose.  God  forbid  that  we 
should  ever  come  to  think  of  human  nature  as  a 
great  system,  with  its  own  power  of  development 
within  itself,  just  working  out  its  own  perfection. 
God  forbid  that  we  should  forget  for  a  moment  that 
it  is  only  by  touching  the  fire  of  God  that  the  fiery 
life  of  man  can  burn.  Man  is  capable  of  greatness 
only  because  he  is  God's  child.  Man  becomes  great 
only  as  his  childhood  to  God  becomes  a  living  fact. 
Man  and  God,  child  and  Father,  must  meet.  They 
do  meet  in  Jesus  Christ. 

Therefore,  and  here  is  the  truth  about  the  matter, 
the  vision  which  our  eyes  are  looking  for  in  the 
heavens,  and  the  new  improved  life  which  our  souls 
are  longing  for  in  the  government,  the  learning,  and 
the  social  Hfe  of  the  world,  belong  together.  They 
are  not  two  and  different ;  they  are  one  and  the 
same.  I  do  not  know — who  does  know,  and  who 
can  know  ? — what  the  actual  visible  phenomenon 
will  be — what  glories  of  the  opened  heavens,  what 
gathering  of  the  angelic  hosts, — but  this  I  am  sure 
of,  that  there  is  no  perfection  of  humanity  possible 
which  shall  not  be  the  entrance  into  and  the  occu- 
pation of  humanity  by  Jesus  Christ,  the  bringing  of 
the  Son  of  man  to  be  the  real  spirit  and  standard  of 


THE   GREAT   ATTAINMENT.  297 

this  earth !  When  that  regenerated  Hfe,  that  per- 
fect humanity  in  government,  in  learning,  and  in 
Hfe  shall  come,  it  will  be  Christ  that  comes, — Christ 
the  completion  of  humanity  in  its  union  with  divin- 
ity, Christ  the  life  of  men  because  Himself  the  true 
man, — Christ  who  came  once  to  show  man  what 
man  in  God  was,  and  who  is  coming  again  to  make 
that  manhood  in  God  the  standard  of  the  world,  the 
only  recognized  judge  and  pattern,  to  which  men 
shall  offer  their  lives  for  its  approval. 

Come,  Lord  Jesus,  come  quickly! — that  is  the 
cry  of  all  earnest  hearts.  Come,  and  make  the  per- 
fect man,  the  divine  man,  be  counted  the  only  true 
man.  The  world  waits,  every  good  cause  lingers, 
expecting  the  coming  of  the  Son  of  man. 

3.  And  so,  if  we  understand  at  all  what  is  meant 
by  the  coming  of  the  Son  of  man,  then  we  are  ready 
for  our  third  question — What  is  it  to  "  stand  be- 
fore Him."  Must  not  our  answer  be,  to"  stand 
before  the  Son  of  man  "  is  to  have  such  a  charac- 
ter, to  live  such  a  life,  that  when  His  asserted  and 
established  dominion  comes,  those  lives  and  charac- 
ters shall  blend  with  it,  help  it,  and  be  helped  by 
it,  and  not  be  swept  away  as  something  hostile 
or  useless,  something  which  has  no  further  place 
or  right  now  that  the  complete  condition  of  the 
world  has  come. 

Suppose  to-day  the  Son  of  man  should  come  in 
government.  That  meant,  as  we  saw,  the  recogni- 
tion and  establishment  of  the  true  principle  of  gov- 
ernment. Government  exists  solely  for  the  good  of 
the  governed,  and  its  success  lies  in  the  expression, 


298  THE   GREAT   ATTAINMENT. 

the  development,  the  education  to  self-government 
of  the  men  it  rules.  Let  government  be  set  upon 
that  basis,  let  that  great  first  truth  pour  in  like  a 
flood  on  all  the  nations  of  the  earth,  and  what  will 
be  the  result  ?  All  that  is  in  harmony  with  that 
idea  will  stand  before  it ;  all  that  is  in  contradiction 
to  it  will  go  down  before  it.  All  the  inhuman 
thoughts  of  government,  all  conceptions  of  govern- 
ment as  existing  for  the  benefit  of  the  governors, 
all  selfish  or  corrupt  politics  must  be  swept  away. 
They  cannot  stand.  But  all  true  thoughts  of  gov- 
ernment, all  unselfish,  devoted,  human  thoughts 
will  blend  with  this  true  revelation  of  what  govern- 
ment ought  to  be.  They  will  say,  "  This  is  what 
we  have  been  guessing  at  and  waiting  for."  They 
will  gather  up  their  courage  and  anticipate  success. 
This  is  the  way  in  which  they  will  "  stand  before 
the  Son  of  man." 

The  same  is  true  of  learning.  Let  the  Son  of 
man  come  in  our  schools  and  colleges,  and  there  are 
some  of  our  scholars  who  must  disappear  as  dust 
before  the  wind ;  and  there  are  other  scholars  who 
will  stand  before  Him  and  know  themselves  in  Him 
with  a  delightful  reassuring  knowledge.  If  you 
have  dared  to  think  of  knowledge  simply  as  personal 
luxury,  if  you  have  let  yourself,  the  more  you 
knew,  be  separated  all  the  more  from  your  fellow- 
men  and  not  be  drawn  the  closer  to  them,  that  must 
be  all  exposed.  All  pedantry,  all  pride  of  learning 
must  disappear.  The  selfishness,  the  baseness  of 
such  learning  must  be  swept  away.  If  you  have 
studied  morally  and  humanly,  if  as  a  student  you 


THE   GREAT  ATTAINMENT.  299 

have  been  ever  more  and  more  a  man,  seeing  ever 
goodness  beyond  truth,  seeing  always  something  for 
humanity  to  be  as  always  the  purpose  of  what  hu- 
manity can  know,  then,  however  much  you  may 
have  gone  astray  and  made  mistakes,  yet  when  the 
Son  of  man  comes  and  says,  "  I  am  the  truth.  This 
is  life  eternal  to  know  me,"  then  you  shall  stand 
before  Him.  The  substance  of  all  honest  and  un- 
selfish thought  and  study  shall  ultimately  be  taken 
up  by  the  great  stream  of  truth,  and  shall  not  per- 
ish, but  shall  live  in  it  forever. 

And  so  of  social  life.  Christ  comes  to-morrow 
and  regenerates  society.  Diviner  purposes,  diviner 
spirits,  fill  its  life.  A  purer  manhood,  a  purer 
womanhood,  issues  out  of  its  confusion.  Every  man 
feels  the  change.  But  will  not  different  men  feel  it 
differently  ?  One  man  says,  "It  is  all  over  with 
me  now  "  ;  another  man  lifts  up  his  head  and  sees 
close  at  hand  the  fulfilment  of  his  dearest  hopes. 
The  man  who  has  lived  on  the  degradation  of  soci- 
ety, what  chance  is  there  for  him  now  that  society 
is  purified  ?  Where  will  his  dishonesty,  his  selfish- 
ness, his  impurity  have  any  chance  ?  The  coming 
of  the  Son  of  man,  the  setting  up  of  the  standard 
and  promise  of  the  perfect  man,  has  been  his  ruin. 
But  the  earnest,  the  pure,  the  souls  eager  for  good- 
ness in  themselves  and  in  the  world,  they  are  at 
once  awake,  alive,  and  full  of  hope.  Look  how 
they  gather  round  this  Son  of  man  and  "  stand 
before  "  Him.  See  how  they  come!  Each  with 
his  poor,  pathetic  little  piece  of  struggle  which  has 
looked  so  hopeless  while  he  was  fighting  it  out  in  his 


300  THE   GREAT   ATTAINMENT. 

own  obscure  corner  of  the  world, — see  how  each 
comes  and  sets  his  bit  of  solitary  struggle  deep  into 
the  great  victory  of  Christ,  and  knows  that  he  has 
his  true  part  in  Christ's  fulfilment  of  the  human  Hfe, 
the  complete  establishment  of  God's  idea  of  man. 

I  think  that  there  can  hardly  be  any  thought  of 
life  more  encouraging  and  ennobling  than  this.  A 
young  man  labors  on  alone  at  some  task  which  he  is 
sure  that  it  is  good  for  him  to  do.  He  works  in 
silence;  men  do  not  notice  him,  or  if  they  notice 
him  they  despise  him.  Perhaps  a  few  simple  souls 
love  him  and  praise  him,  and  their  love  and  praise 
make  him  seem  all  the  more  insignificant  and  ridic- 
ulous in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  whose  standards  he 
totally  fails  to  meet.  He  works  on,  quiet,  patient, 
cheerful,  happy.  He  can  hardly  give  you  a  clear 
account  of  why  he  goes  on  working  at  his  lonely 
task,  but  it  is  almost  as  if  he  felt  sure  that  the  great 
spirits  of  good  were  with  him.  He  has  no  word  of 
reproach  for  misconception  or  of  complaint  for  hard- 
ship. He  is  perfectly  patient,  busy,  happy.  And 
then  some  day  the  world  makes  a  distinct  step  for- 
ward. It  turns  suddenly  a  corner  which  it  has  been 
long  approaching,  and  there,  advancing  down  the 
road  towards  it,  is  a  new,  a  higher  type  of  human 
life.  It  is  a  loftier  attainment  of  humanity  coming 
in  to  occupy  the  world.  It  is  a  coming  of  the  Son 
of  man.  And  then  this  quiet  worker  lifts  up  his 
head  and  a  light  comes  in  his  eyes,  and  he  calmly 
goes  and  takes  this  stranger  by  the  hand.  He  goes 
and  "  stands  before  the  Son  of  man,"  and  he  is 
"  counted  worthy  to  stand  "  there.     The  Son  of  man 


THE   GREAT  ATTAINMENT.  3OI 

turns  and  looks  at  him  and  knows  him,  and  without 
a  question  takes  him  for  his  ally  and  his  friend. 

Is  not  our  question  answered  ?  "  To  be  worthy 
to  stand  before  the  Son  of  man  "  is  to  be  living  such 
lives  that  if  a  greater  day  should  dawn,  a  nobler, 
purer  life  be  opened  on  the  world,  a  new  demand  be 
made  on  our  humanity,  we  should  be  ready  for  it. 
We  may  be  hoping  for  it  or  despairing  of  it.  We 
may  seem  even  now  to  hear  the  footfall  of  the  comer 
or  we  may,  after  a  hundred  disappointments,  have 
grown  desperate  and  said,  "  No,  He  will  never 
come."  That  does  not  matter.  To  be  living  such 
lives  that  if  He  did  come  we  should  go  to  Him  and 
take  our  places  by  His  side  sure  that  that  was  where 
we  belonged,  so  we  are  "  worthy  to  stand  before  the 
Son  of  man." 

In  a  deep  sense,  as  it  concerns  the  highest  things, 
every  soul  is  worthy  of  that  of  which  it  is  capable. 
A  soul  that  is  capable  of  being  forgiven  is  worthy  of 
being  forgiven.  A  soul  that  is  capable  of  going  to 
heaven  is  worthy  of  going  to  heaven.  So  to  be 
worthy  of  standing  before  the  Son  of  man  is  to  be 
capable  of  standing  before  Him  ;  it  is  to  have  such  a 
nature,  it  is  to  live  such  a  life  that  when  we  see  Him 
we  shall  know  that  our  place  is  by  His  side  and  shall 
go  up  to  the  judgment  of  His  presence  without  a 
fear. 

Again  I  find  myself  wondering  whether  I  do  not 
melt  away  into  abstractions  that  which  the  Bible 
likes  to  keep  in  such  clear,  personal  distinctness. 
We  talk  about  the  coming  of  standards  of  higher 
living,  of  a  new  and  more  glorious  type  of  human 


302  THE  GREAT  ATTAINMENT. 

life;  the  Bible  talks  of  the  coming  of  the  Son  of 
man.  We  sigh  and  cry  for  purer  government,  for 
more  spiritual  learning,  for  more  unselfish  social  life ; 
the  New  Testament  with  its  last  verse  sends  throb- 
bing out  through  the  ages  its  passionate  appeal, 
"  Even  so,  come.  Lord  Jesus!  "  I  would  fain  hope 
that  our  study  of  this  morning  has  opened  somewhat 
to  us  the  depths  of  reasonable  meaning  which  are 
included  in  that  cry  to  Christ  and  have  enabled  us 
to  hear  in  it  all  the  great  cry  of  humanity  for  a  bet- 
ter life,  of  which  the  world  is  full.  But  as  we  close 
let  it  become  very  personal,  let  it  have  all  the  inten- 
sity and  warmth  of  personality.  A  thousand  things 
the  poor  world  wants,  but  it  wants  only  one  Person, 
only  one  Saviour.  In  Him,  in  Jesus,  all  that  it 
really  needs  must  come  to  it.  Peace  instead  of  war, 
unselfishness  instead  of  selfishness,  hope  instead  of 
fear,  holiness  instead  of  wickedness, — all  of  these 
must  come  when  Christ  comes  to  be  the  world's  king. 
And  He  is  surely  coming.  The  world  has  been 
given  to  Him  by  His  Father,  and  shall  certainly  be 
His.  Oh,  may  we  be  such  men  that  when  He 
comes  we  may  gather  up  our  lives,  which  have  tried 
to  obey  Him  even  when  they  saw  Him  very  dimly, 
and  go  and  stand  before  Him — worthy  to  stand 
there  because  we  are  able  to  stand  there  by  His 
grace.  With  that  readiness  in  us  we  can  patiently 
wait  His  time,  for  the  soul  that  is  ready  to  welcome 
Christ  and  live  with  Him  at  His  coming  has  wel- 
comed Him  and  is  living  with  Him  already. 


XVIII. 
THE   JOY   OF   RELIGION. 

"  And  as  for  the  prophet  and  the  priest  and  the  people  that  shall 
say,  The  burden  of  the  Lord,  I  will  even  punish  that  man  and  his 
house.  Thus  shall  ye  say  every  one  to  his  neighbor  and  every  one 
to  his  brother,  What  hath  the  Lord  answered  ?  and  What  hath  the 
Lord  spoken  ?  "—Jeremiah  xxiii.  34  and  35, 

There  must  have  been  a  very  sad  state  of  things 
in  Jerusalem  when  Jeremiah  the  prophet  wrote  these 
words.  The  people  were  reluctantly  religious.  They 
believed  in  God  as  Jesus  said  that  the  devils  believed 
and  trembled.  They  went  to  worship  Him  and  to 
ask  His  will  because  they  were  afraid  not  to  go. 
They  would  gladly  have  stayed  away  from  the  tem- 
ple, and  shut  all  religion  out  of  their  houses  and  their 
hearts,  and  been  rid  of  the  whole  thing  if  they  had 
dared.  They  did  not  dare,  and  so  their  religion  lay 
like  a  heavy  cloud  upon  their  city  instead  of  filling 
its  houses  and  its  streets  like  sunshine.  The  people, 
when  they  talked  with  one  another,  called  it  "  The 
burden  of  the  Lord." 

Jeremiah  felt  how  angry  God  must  be  with  this. 
He  knew  that  the  heart  of  the  Father  could  not  value 
any  such  enforced  and  frightened  service  of  His  chil- 
dren.    Another  picture  filled  his  imagination  wholly 

303 


304  THE  JOY   OF   RELIGION. 

different  from  that  which  he  was  seeing  every  day. 
He  pictured  to  himself  the  hosts  of  people  all  flock- 
ing to  Jehovah  as  their  dearest  friend.  He  heard 
the  streets  all  alive  with  the  questions  which  the 
people  were  asking  one  another  about  the  last  utter- 
ance of  God.  **  What  hath  the  Lord  answered  ?  " 
"What  hath  the  Lord  said  ?  "  he  heard  them  eagerly 
inquiring  of  one  another.  Then  he  turned  back 
from  his  dream,  and  lo !  there  was  nothing  in  the 
real  Jerusalem  except  this  slavish  obedience  to  a 
Master  whom  the  people  did  not  dare  to  disobey. 
No  wonder  that  the  word  of  the  Lord  came  to  him 
and  he  spoke.  "  As  for  the  people  and  the  priest 
and  the  people  that  shall  say  The  burden  of  the 
Lord,  I  will  even  punish  that  man  and  his  house. 
Thus  shall  ye  say  every  one  to  his  neighbor  and 
every  one  to  his  brother,  What  hath  the  Lord  an- 
swered ?  and  What  hath  the  Lord  spoken  ? ' ' 

The  prophet  simply  hears  issuing  from  the  lips  of 
God  such  a  remonstrance  as  must  come  from  the 
heart  of  any  generous  friend  whose  friendship  is 
accepted  as  a  burden  and  not  welcomed  as  a  joy. 
The  father  whose  son  obeys  him  out  of  servile  fear, 
the  teacher  whose  lessons  are  learned  in  dogged  and 
ungrateful  submission,  the  generous  ruler  whose  sub- 
jects hate  him,  and  would  rebel  against  him  if  they 
dared, — these  all  interpret  to  us  the  feeling  which 
Jeremiah  expresses  from  the  heart  of  God.  How 
modern  it  all  sounds!  How  it  lets  us  see  that  the 
men  in  old  Jerusalem  were  like  the  men  to-day.  It 
is  modern  because  it  is  universal.  It  belongs  to  our 
time  because  it  belongs  to  all  times.     Always  there 


THE  JOY   OF  RELIGION.  305 

have  been  men  who  did  not  dare  not  to  be  religious, 
but  who  never  got  at  the  heart  and  soul  and  glory 
of  religion  because  their  religion  never  came  to  be 
an  eager,  delighted,  impatient  seeking  for  the  will 
and  help  of  God.  I  think  that  there  can  be  no  pres- 
entation of  God  to  us  more  pathetic,  more  full  of 
gracious  dignity  and  living  majesty,  than  that  which 
shows  Him  earnestly  remonstrating  with  His  chil- 
dren upon  this  false  and  base  relation  which  they 
take  towards  Him,  which  makes  it  impossible  for  the 
richest  of  His  life  and  help  to  flow  over  into  them. 

Let  us  try  to  understand  this  condition  of  the 
people  of  Jerusalem  which  is  also  the  condition  of  so 
many  modern  men,  this  strange  phenomenon  of  re- 
luctant religiousness,  this  service  of  God  which  all 
the  time  that  it  is  being  done  still  counts  itself  a 
burden. 

We  begin  by  recognizing  the  way  in  which  God  has 
built  the  world  so  that  the  healthy  and  legitimate 
exercise  of  every  power  ought  always  to  be  a  source  of 
pleasure  to  its  fortunate  possessor.  How  that  law 
runs  through  everything!  Our  imagination  seems  to 
feel  its  presence  even  in  unconscious  things.  The 
first  poetic  instinct  thinks  it  almost  hears  the  pine 
tree  shout  upon  the  hill  top  with  the  joy  of  growing, 
and  catches  a  sense  of  satisfaction  from  the  rhythm 
of  the  machinery  with  which  the  factory  beats  out 
the  music  of  its  work.  When  we  come  up  to  living 
things,  we  do  not  need  the  effort  of  imagination. 
Everyone  can  see  with  what  enjoyment  the  bird  flies 
and  the  dog  hunts.  The  horse  as  well  as  the  rider 
is  happy  in  the  rush  of  healthy  action.     Even  the 


306  THE   JOY   OF   RELIGION. 

lowest  creature  who  floats  on  the  pool's  surface  or 
Hes  and  basks  in  the  sunshine  feels,  we  are  sure, 
some  dull,  half-conscious  pleasure  in  the  mere  act  of 
living,  in  the  normal  activity  of  each  organic  func- 
tion which  is  the  witness  of  its  place  in  the  great 
universe  of  God. 

When  we  mount  higher  still  and  come  to  man, 
then  it  is  still  more  certain.  The  test  of  health  in 
man  is  that  joy  follows  action.  You  lift  your  arm, 
you  draw  your  breath,  you  think  your  thought  with 
pain,  and  you  are  instantly  aware  that  something  is 
wrong  with  you.  There  is  some  pebble  in  the  stream 
of  life  that  jars  its  current  and  makes  it,  in  so  far, 
not  life  but  death,  not  flow  and  progress  but  stop- 
page and  interruption.  All  your  associations  with 
your  fellow-men,  bringing  out  your  powers  into 
action,  making  you  use  your  capacity  of  living, 
trusting,  persuading,  obeying,  helping,  and  being 
helped,  all  of  these  ought  to  bring  unmixed  delight. 
The  same  things  which  we  do  in  these  earthly  streets 
often  with  reluctance  and  complaint  will  bring  un- 
mixed delight  when  we  do  them  on  the  streets  of 
the  New  Jerusalem.  There  it  will  be  possible  to  test 
the  truth  and  healthiness  of  every  action  by  its  joy. 
"  It  hurts  me,"  or  "  I  do  not  want  to  do  it,"  will 
be  the  soul's  testimony  that  the  thing  ought  not  to 
be  done.  There  will  be  the  safety  and  the  peace  of 
heaven. 

*  Serene  shall  be  our  days  and  bright, 
And  happy  shall  our  nature  be. 
When  love  is  an  unerring  light. 
And  joy  its  own  security." 


THE  JOY  OF  RELIGION.  307 

We  are  very  far  away  from  that  now.  "  I  know 
it  is  my  duty  because  I  hate  it  so,"  is  very  apt  to 
be  the  cynical  expression  of  the  condition  in  which 
men  feel  that  they  are  living,  but  yet  it  is  a  noble 
sign  of  how  our  nature  cannot  fall  entirely  away 
from  its  design  and  first  idea  that  the  human  soul 
always  keeps  the  double  sense  that  it  was  made  for 
happiness  and  goodness  both,  and  that  when  it  comes 
to  its  completeness  it  will  find  them  both  in  har- 
mony, that  in  the  end  righteousness  and  peace  shall 
kiss  each  other. 

It  would  be  very  terrible  if  it  were  not  so,  if  the 
intrinsic  condition  of  activity  were  pain.  That 
would  be  incredible  as  a  general  fact  of  human  life, 
and  it  would  be  incredible  also,  I  think,  of  any  one 
human  power  taken  by  itself.  If  our  experience  of 
man  found  that  there  were  any  capacity  of  man 
whose  natural  exercise,  apart  from  all  deranging  cir- 
cumstances, brought  distress  and  misery,  how  we 
should  stand  perplexed  and  almost  dismayed. 
Plenty  of  powers  there  are  which,  under  present 
conditions,  as  we  are  living  now,  we  cannot  put  into 
exercise  without  pain, — we  cannot  work  without 
weariness,  we  cannot  trust  without  disappointment, 
we  cannot  think  without  feeling  the  thought  which 
we  send  out  striking  almost  immediately  on  some 
obstacle  which  turns  it  out  of  the  course  in  which 
we  sent  it  to  find  the  perfect  truth.  But  all  of  these 
we  know  are  accidental  pains.  To  work,  to  trust,  to 
think,  are,  in  their  essence,  self-indulgences.  The 
soul  seeks  them  with  appetite,  seeks  them  even  in 
spite  of  the  painful  experience  with  which  they  are 


308  THE   JOY   OF   RELIGION. 

now  constantly  associated,  and  so  bears  witness  of 
its  belief  that  in  themselves  they  are  sources  of  joy 
and  not  of  suffering. 

Let  us  try  to  keep  such  a  healthy  faith  as  that. 
Let  us  be  clear-souled  enough  to  see  through  and 
behind  the  present  connection  of  life  and  pain,  and 
know  that  in  its  essence  life  is  not  pain  but  joy. 
We  are  sure  that  it  must  be  so  with  God  in  His  com- 
plete existence.  The  omnipotence  of  God  and  the 
bliss  of  God  must  belong  together.  In  the  infinite 
range  of  His  power  lies  the  infinite  completeness  of 
His  joy.  He  cannot  act  without  happiness  any 
more  than  the  sun  can  shine  without  light.  It  is  not 
only  a  joy  in  the  result  of  action,  we  cannot  think  of 
God  without  believing  that  there  is  joy  in  action 
itself,  that  every  outgoing  of  power  is  answered  by 
an  inflowing  flood  of  delight.  And  what  we  think 
must  be  in  God,  we  believe  must  be,  we  find  to  be 
potentially  in  man  His  child. 

And  now  among  the  powers  of  man,  lo !  there  is 
one  highest  power  which  has  always  been  bearing 
witness  of  itself,  which  has  always  refused  to  be 
ignored  or  denied.  Men  have  tried  to  deny  it  and 
injure  it.  They  have  said  to  it,  "  Be  quiet;  you 
are  not  a  true  part  of  us.  You  are  only  a  tempo- 
rary, morbid  form  of  exhibition  of  some  powers  of 
us  which  are  real  and  which  will  leave  you,  their 
temporary  exhibition,  behind  as  they  come  to  their 
complete  life."  But  still  the  power  of  religion,  the 
power  in  man  of  counting  himself  the  child  of  a 
heavenly  Father  and  of  looking  up  to  that  Father 
for  commandment  and  for  care,  has  always  answered 


THE  JOY   OF   RELIGION.  309 

back  confidently  to  all  such  denials  of  its  existence, 
"  Nay,  but  I  am.  You  know  I  am,  in  spite  of  all 
your  eager  saying  that  I  am  not."  And  man, 
whether  he  were  the  savage  finding  the  knowledge  of 
God  at  the  bottom  of  all  things  or  the  sage  finding 
the  knowledge  of  God  at  the  summit  and  crown  of 
all  things,  has  in  the  long  range  of  his  consciousness 
owned  the  existence  of  this  power  of  being  religious 
among  the  powers  which  made  up  his  manhood. 

And  more  than  this,  he  has  answered  that  if  this 
power  of  religion  be  in  man  then  it  is  the  greatest  of 
his  powers,  it  is  the  king  among  them.  This  no  man 
will  deny.  Even  he  who  says  that  there  is  no  power 
in  man  of  recognizing,  loving,  and  obeying  God  will 
freely  say,  I  think,  that,  if  there  were,  that  power 
would  be  the  Lord  of  all  man's  life,  would  give  man 
his  supreme  dignity,  and  would  deserve  and  ought 
to  have  his  most  careful  care. 

And  now  does  this  religious  power  also  fall  under 
the  law  of  all  our  powers  which  I  was  trying  to  de- 
scribe ?  Our  first  conviction  surely  is  that  it  must, 
simply  because  it  is  our  highest  faculty.  "  It  cannot 
be,"  so  runs  our  simplest  thought,  "  It  cannot  be 
that  all  my  lower  powers  are  meant  and  made  to  give 
me  joy,  but  this  my  highest  power  has  no  joy  to  give. 
It  cannot  be  that  I  was  made  so  that  my  thirst 
should  run  to  the  river,  and  my  curiosity  to  the 
book,  and  my  friendship  to  my  friend,  and  yet  that 
my  soul  should  hold  back  and  hesitate  when  it  is 
offered  the  chance  to  go  to  God.  It  must  be  that 
in  my  supreme  faculty  the  law  of  all  my  faculties 
will  be  supremely  realized,  and  that  I  shall  find  joy 


3IO  THE   JOY   OF   RELIGION. 

in  loving  and  obeying  God  which  no  other  indul- 
gence of  my  nature  ever  has  attained." 

And  no  one  who  looks  carefully  at  the  history  of 
man  can  fail  to  own  that  in  general  such  enthusiastic 
expectations  have  beeen  satisfied.  Among  the 
enjoyments  which  have  brightened  men's  lives  since 
men  began  to  suffer  and  enjoy,  the  enjoyment  which 
has  come  to  men  from  an  assured  belief  that  they 
belonged  to  God,  and  that  He  loved  them,  and  that 
they  loved  Him,  shines  with  a  lustre  which  is  all  its 
own.  The  happiest  moments  which  have  been  passed 
upon  this  earth  have  probably  been  moments  in  which 
consecrated  human  souls  have  intensely  realized  their 
nearness  to  the  soul  of  God ;  and  the  most  passion- 
ate desire  which  the  world  has  ever  seen  has  prob- 
ably been  the  desire  of  eager  hearts  who  had  tasted 
of  divine  communion  to  come  yet  nearer  to  the  God 
to  whom  they  longed  to  give,  in  whom  they  longed 
to  lose  their  life. 

This,  I  believe,  this,  I  am  sure,  is  true;  and  yet 
no  doubt  the  other  fact  is  also  true  that  there  have 
always  been  Jeremiah's  men  upon  the  earth,  that 
multitudes  of  men  have  always  looked  at  the  knowl- 
edge of  God  and  obedience  to  Him  as  sad  necessi- 
ties. Men  who  have  called  themselves  religious 
have  had  at  the  bottom  of  their  hearts  a  terrible  mis- 
giving that  they  were  religious  only  from  fear,  and 
that,  if  they  dared,  they  would  cast  all  religion  to 
the  winds  and  go  their  way  unhaunted  by  the  spirit- 
ual cares.  There  is  surely  something  very  strange  in 
such  a  combination  of  phenomena.  Surely  it  may 
well  make  us  ask  whether  it  is  possible  to  understand 


THE   JOY   OF   RELIGION.  3 II 

the  causes  of  this  reluctance,  this  shrinking  back 
from  that  which,  when  it  has  its  full  power,  is  the 
strongest  passion  that  can  occupy  the  soul  of  man. 
Why  is  it  that  to  so  many  men  religion  is  a  burden 
and  a  toil  instead  of  an  inspiration  and  a  joy  ?  Let 
me  try  to  give  several  reasons,  all  of  which  have  their 
effect. 

The  broadest  and  simplest,  perhaps  also  the  most 
powerful  reason,  as  it  seems  to  me,  is  that  men  fail 
to  get  hold  of  the  truth  that  religion  is  natural  to 
man,  and  think  that  it  is  something  strange  and  for- 
eign. You  and  I  do  nothing  with  the  heartiest 
readiness  except  what  we  feel  that  we  were  made  to 
do.  All  other  things  are  either  amateur  side-issues 
of  our  life,  or  else  they  are  bondages  fastened  upon 
us  by  some  outside  despotism.  The  time  when  he 
discovers  in  his  nature  some  strong  natural  fitness  is 
the  moment  when  a  young  man's  nature  wakes  to 
enthusiasm  and  settles  itself  down  to  the  determined 
pursuit,  the  gradual  delighted  attainment  of  some 
great  end  in  living.  Now  how  is  it  about  the  knowl-i 
edge  and  obedience  of  God  ?  Partly  because  the 
human  soul  needs  higher  help  in  order  to  attain  this 
loftiest  ambition,  partly  because,  surrounded  by  the 
things  of  earth,  many  men  seem  to  satisfy  their  souls 
with  simple  earthliness  and  so  the  men  who  seek  for 
and  attain  to  spiritual  life  appear  to  be  exceptions, — 
for  these  and  other  reasons  religion  comes  to  seem 
to  many  souls  an  importation,  something  unnatural, 
something  to  be  sought  after  and  attained  only  with 
a  struggle.  A  man  comes  into  a  savage  island  and 
there  settles  himself  down  and  begins,  let  us  say,  to 


312  THE   JOY   OF   RELIGION. 

paint.  The  landscape  glows  upon  his  canvas.  The 
soul  of  all  this  yet  uninterpreted  nature  becomes 
translated  by  his  brush.  The  savages  gather  about 
him  and  admire.  He  seems  to  them  a  creature  of 
another  kind.  His  art  is  something  transcendent, 
unimaginable.  And  then  suppose  that  som^e  voice 
speaks  to  them  and  says,  "All  that  which  you  see  is 
not  miraculous.  It  is  not  superhuman,  not  extra- 
human  ;  it  is  simply  human.  It  is  in  every  one  of 
you  to  do  what  that  man  does," — how  perfectly  in- 
credible that  would  sound.  And  if  the  voice  went 
farther  and  compelled  every  poor  savage  to  under- 
take as  a  duty  what  it  declared  to  be  a  possibility, 
then  what  complaining  there  would  be.  With  what 
reluctant  fingers,  ashamed  of  their  own  clumsiness, 
those  unbelieving  savages  would  take  up  the  brushes 
which  they  thought  that  men  like  them  ought  not  to 
touch.  Somewhat  like  that  I  think  it  is  with  many 
men  about  all  spiritual  things.  You  say  to  your 
friend,  "  See,  is  not  that  beautiful,  that  Christian 
life  ?  Look,  how  that  servant  of  the  Saviour  walks 
above  the  world.  Behold  how,  satisfied  with  Jesus, 
he  can  do  without  the  world's  indulgences.  Behold 
how,  obedient  to  Jesus,  he  can  resist  the  world's 
temptations.  Is  it  not  beautiful?"  Your  friend 
replies,  "  Indeed  it  is!  "  and  stands  and  admires,  as 
much  enraptured  as  yourself.  But  when  you  turn 
and  bid  him  live  that  same  life,  how  he  recoils. 
"  Oh,  not  for  me!  "  he  says.  "  I  am  a  weak  and 
common  mortal.  These  extraordinary  flights,  these 
high  experiences,  are  not  for  me. ' '  And  if  you  force 
his  conscience  to  the  task  the  power  of  this  lurking 


THE  JOY   OF   RELIGION.  313 

unbelief  infects  and  poisons  every  effort  that  he 
makes.  He  cannot  because  he  thinks  that  he  can- 
not. What  does  he  need  ?  A  larger  thought  of  his 
own  life,  a  deeper  knowledge  of  himself,  a  broad  out- 
look over  uncultivated,  unappropriated  regions  of 
his  own  nature,  a  stir  and  wakening  in  him  of  the 
knowledge  that  he  is  God's  son.  Let  all  this  come, 
and  with  it  must  come  courage  and  hope ;  and  what 
a  man  does  with  courage  and  hope  he  always  does 
with  joy. 

Another  reason  why  the  Christian  life  and  Chris- 
tian duties  are  clothed  for  so  many  people  with  the 
aspect  of  difficulty  and  reluctance,  instead  of  being 
full  of  invitation  and  delight,  seems  to  me  to  lie  in 
this — that  the  Christian  religion,  by  the  necessity  of 
the  case,  presented  itself  first  to  the  world  as  a  means 
of  rescue  and  repair,  and  that  that  side  of  it  has 
almost  entirely  absorbed  men's  thoughts  of  it  ever 
since.  The  world  was  full  of  sin  when  Jesus  came. 
The  world  is  full  of  sin  to-day.  When  Jesus  came 
into  the  world,  when  Jesus  comes  to  you  or  me,  His 
first  work  must  be  to  rebuke  our  sin  and  bid  us  leave 
it.  "  Repentance  "  is  the  first  cry.  "  He  that 
repenteth  and  forsaketh  his  sin,  he  shall  find  mercy." 
Now,  that  is  negative !  And  that  is  by  necessity 
full  of  the  spirit  of  fear !  And  to  do  negative  work 
fearfully  can  never  waken  the  most  ardent  enthusi- 
asm, or  make  the  pulses  leap  with  the  most  buoyant 
joy.  To  be  dragged  up  out  of  a  pit  into  which  we 
have  fallen,  to  be  plucked  away  from  a  fire  which 
seems  to  be  racing  on  to  destroy  us,  to  be  forgiven 
for  sin  for  which  we  have  been  expecting  to  be  pun- 


314  THE  JOY   OF   RELIGION. 

ished, — that  stirs  the  profoundest  gratitude  and  fills 
us  with  a  peace  all  the  more  blessed  and  complete 
because  of  the  remembered  danger  and  distress  with 
which  it  stands  in  contrast.  But  still  all  that  is  nega- 
tive. The  moment  that  the  face  is  turned  away 
from  the  dead  past,  and  looks  toward  the  living 
future,  a  new  power  comes.  Then  all  is  positive. 
"  Thou  shalt  not  "  is  swallowed  up  and  lost  in  the 
more  mighty,  the  more  divine,  "Thou  shalt."  Then 
the  soul  feeds  on  promises.  It  no  longer  is  con- 
tented just  to  hold  its  own.  Hope  is  awake,  and 
hope  is  infinite. 

Now,  as  I  said,  the  first  presentation  of  the  Chris- 
tian Gospel  to  the  world  was  of  necessity  as  a 
message  of  rescue  and  repair.  It  was  a  gospel  of 
forsfiveness.  The  world  was  old  and  sick  with  sin. 
Christ  came  as  the  physician,  and  had  at  once  to  lay 
His  hand  upon  disease.  That  need  has  not  yet 
passed  away,  can  never  pass  away  so  long  as  men  are 
sinners.  But  it  may  well  be  doubted  whether  the 
Christian  faith  has  not  too  narrowly  confined  itself 
to  this  its  first  necessary  presentation.  The  Gospel 
has  been  made  too  exclusively  a  Gospel  of  forgive- 
ness. We  are  surprised  sometimes  when  we  look 
through  the  New  Testament  to  see  how  very  much 
there  is  positive,  not  negative  at  all.  Even  if  man 
had  never  sinned,  still  there  might  have  come  to  him 
the  great  assurance  of  how  vast  was  the  possible  range 
of  goodness  and  strength  to  which  he  might  attain  if 
he  would  claim  the  help  of  God.  Of  that  assurance 
the  New  Testament  is  full.  The  forgiveness  of  sin 
is  but  the  setting  free  of  the  soul  that  it  may  realize 


THE   JOY   OF   RELIGION.  31$ 

that  assurance.  If  a  man  can  hear  that  assurance, 
through  every  promise  of  forgiveness,  deepening  it, 
giving  it  its  fullest  purpose,  he  cannot  help  but  listen. 
There  is  an  eagerness  with  which  the  prisoner  listens 
to  catch  every  word  of  the  pardon  which  is  to  set  him 
free.  But  with  a  healthier  and  more  earnest  eager- 
ness the  freed  prisoner,  outside  of  the  jail  gate,  hangs 
on  the  lips  of  the  wise  friend  who  tells  him  how  he 
may  become  a  strong,  respected  man  again.  And 
so  Christianity  becomes  a  new  thing  to  you  when  in 
it  you  feel  the  power  not  merely  of  forgiveness  and 
escape  from  penalty,  but  of  a  manifold  new  life,  of 
higher  thoughts,  braver  struggles,  nobler  society  with 
brother-man,  profounder  character — in  a  word,  of  a 
whole  new  life.  With  all  that  in  expectation  think 
what  new  zest  must  come  into  the  faith  of  Christian 
men.  How  men  would  listen  for  God's  word,  and 
ponder  it  and  try  to  get  at  its  depths!  How  they 
would  say  every  one  to  his  neighbor,  and  every  one 
to  his  brother,  "  What  hath  the  Lord  answered  ?  " 
and  "  What  hath  the  Lord  spoken  ?  " 

I  want  to  speak  of  one  more  of  the  causes  which 
rob  religion  of  its  joy.  It  is  the  superficialness  and 
partialness  of  our  religious  life.  Very  many  of  the 
best  and  greatest  things  are  dull  and  burdensome 
upon  the  surface,  and  they  only  lay  hold  upon  us 
and  enchain  us  when  we  get  within  the  power  of 
their  hearts  and  souls.  The  study  which  is  holding 
its  profound  student  enraptured  and  sleepless  with 
delight  is  the  same  study  over  which  the  school-boy 
yawns  and  groans.  Once,  it  may  be,  he  who  is  now 
the  enraptured  and  delighted  scholar  was  the  yawn- 


3l6  THE  JOY   OF  RELIGION. 

ing  school-boy.  At  that  long-gone  day  when  he  sat 
over  his  hated  task,  there  were  two  possible  ways 
of  relieving  his  weariness  and  disgust.  He  might 
have  cast  the  dreary  study  aside  altogether  and  gone 
out  to  his  play,  or  he  might  have  pressed  on  into  the 
heart  of  his  study  and  found  it  full  of  fire  and  enthu- 
siasm. This  last  is  what  he  did,  and  now  there  is  no 
joy  for  him  like  questioning  his  science  for  its  deepest 
secrets  and  delving  or  waiting  till  the  answer  comes. 

And  here,  then,  is  the  man  of  whom  we  have  been 
speaking  this  morning,  the  man  who  is  reluctantly 
religious.  He  does  religious  duty,  he  thinks  relig- 
ious thought,  but  it  is  weariness  to  him.  "  The 
burden  of  the  Lord,"  that  is  the  true  name  for  his 
experience.  Is  it  not  the  fact  that  for  him  also  there 
are  two  possible  ways  of  escape  from  the  dreariness 
of  a  reluctant  religion  ?  It  is  conceivable  that  he 
may  turn  his  back  upon  it  all,  and  give  himself  up 
totally  to  the  world  as  if  there  were  no  God,  no  soul, 
no  heaven,  no  hell.  Or  he  may  press  on  deep  into 
the  knowledge  of  the  eternal  and  the  infinite  until 
he  is  all  absorbed  in  them,  and  temporary  and  finite 
things  lose  every  value  except  what  they  get  from 
the  reflections  of  the  infinite  and  the  eternal  which 
appear  in  them. 

You  are  right  in  the  midst  of  the  clatter  of  the 
world.  The  tumult  of  society  is  in  your  ears. 
Through  it,  piercing  it  as  the  lightning  pierces  the 
stormy  sky,  there  comes  some  word  of  God.  He 
tells  you  that  your  soul  is  sacred,  that  selfishness  is 
death  in  life,  that  judgment  is  coming.  You  turn 
away  and  will  not  listen.     You  plunge  again  into  the 


THE  JOY   OF   RELIGION.  317 

strife  of  tongues.  Perhaps  you  can  escape  that  voice 
of  God;  if  you  can,  it  is  dreadful.  If  by  a  blessed 
incapacity  you  cannot  escape  it,  then  there  is  only 
one  thing  to  do — to  listen  to  it,  and  obey  it,  to 
question  it,  "  What  hath  God  answered  ?  "  "  What 
hath  God  spoken  ?  "  To  open  your  heart  to  the 
living  word  of  God,  to  be  His  servant  and  to  do 
His  will. 

O  my  dear  friend,  if  you  have  tried  to  be  relig- 
ious and  have  found  your  religion  a  burden,  what 
you  need  to  relieve  its  burdensomeness  is  to  be  not 
less  but  more  religious.  If  prayer  is  a  task  and  a 
slavery,  you  must  not  spring  up  from  your  knees 
and  rush  back  into  the  open  fields  of  self-reliance ; 
you  must  press  forward  into  deeper  and  deeper 
chambers  of  God's  helpfulness.  You  must  desire 
greater  and  greater  things,  things  so  great  that  none 
but  God  can  give  them.  So,  and  so  only,  can  you 
come  by  and  by  to  eager  prayer,  to  waiting  at  the 
door  of  grace  with  deep  impatience  till  the  answer 
comes.  If  self-sacrifice  exhausts  and  embitters  you, 
the  refuge  is  not  in  self-indulgence  but  in  more 
self-sacrifice.  If  the  little  amateur  work  which  you 
do  for  your  Master,  done  in  the  leisure  moments 
which  are  left  over  after  your  work  for  yourself  is 
done,  is  all  unsatisfactory,  what  you  need  is  a  brave 
giving  over  of  your  whole  life  to  Him  and  the  doing 
of  everything  for  His  blessed  sake.  If  the  little 
truth  which  you  believe  frets  and  distresses  you, 
you  must  send  out  your  wonder  and  your  faith  to 
compass  the  completest  knowledge  which  a  soul  like 
yours  can  win. 


3l8  THE  JOY   OF   RELIGION. 

So  always,  he  who  goes  up  to  conquer  peace  and 
righteousness  must  burn  his  ships  and  trust  his 
whole  life  to  the  land  which  lies  so  rich  before  him. 
Oh,  the  poor,  weary,  half-way  Christians,  who  play 
upon  the  fringes  of  the  religious  life,  and  are  never 
quite  sure  that  they  will  not  turn  back  again  and 
leave  it  all  behind  !  Some  day  they  must  feel  the 
great  strength  of  Christ  taking  possession  of  them 
wholly.  Then,  totally  consecrated  to  Him,  the 
learning  of  His  truth,  the  doing  of  His  work,  the 
growth  into  His  image,  shall  fill  and  satisfy  their 
souls. 

I  have  not  spoken  of  the  baser  reasons  which 
make  sometimes  the  struggle  for  a  higher  life  a 
burden  and  a  pain  to  him  who  undertakes  it.  If  a 
man  is  living  in  sin  which  he  will  not  give  up  and 
yet  is  trying  to  keep  a  hold  upon  religion,  then  of 
course  to  him  it  is  all  weariness  and  woe.  But  I 
have  chosen  to  speak  to-day  of  men  of  better  sort. 
These  causes  blight  their  faith  and  rob  it  of  its 
freshness  and  delight.  Their  religion  is  not  natural 
enough.  It  is  not  positive  enough.  It  is  not 
thorough  enough.  When  I  look  in  upon  the  lives 
of  those  who  in  all  times  have  most  found  their 
service  of  Christ  a  perennial  joy,  I  find  in  them 
always  these  qualities.  They  have  counted  their 
service  of  Christ  the  crown  and  consummation  of 
their  humanity.  They  have  sought  in  it  not  simply 
rescue,  but  attainment.  And  they  have  given 
themselves  up  without  reserve  into  its  power. 

It  is  good  to  feel  deeply  that  Christ  Himself  is 
always  urging  His  disciples  on  to  such  a  faith   in 


THE  JOY   OF   RELIGION.  319 

Him  as  this.  He  glorifies  our  human  life  until  it 
claims  completeness  in  obedience  to  the  divine.  He 
is  not  satisfied  to  forgive  any  soul  without  trying 
to  carry  it  forward  to  a  positive,  gradually  perfecting 
life.  He  demands  the  whole  devotion  of  the  soul 
He  saves. 

Therefore  whoever  comes  into  the  service  of 
Christ  at  all  gets  within  sight  of  the  supreme  re- 
ligion. Therefore  whoever  is  trying  to  do  Christ's 
will  even  in  bondage  is  close  upon  the  borders  of  the 
glorious  liberty  of  the  children  of  God.  Therefore 
one  wants  to  cry  to  every  weary  and  discouraged 
Christian,  "  Oh,  keep  on!  keep  on,  however  hard 
the  work  appears  to  be !  This  is  not  the  real  light 
of  faith,  but  it  is  close  upon  its  borders.  Be  obedient. 
Do  the  will  of  God,  however  bitter  it  may  be,  sure 
that  there  is  sweetness  at  its  heart,  and  never  rest- 
ing till  you  have  found  its  sweetness." 

When  you  have  found  it,  then  your  whole  life 
listens  at  the  lips  of  God.  To  hear  Him  tell  His 
will  by  any  of  His  wonderful  voices  is  your  perpetual 
desire.  Your  ears  are  always  open.  "  What  hath 
He  answered  ?  "  "  What  hath  He  spoken  ?  "  you 
go  asking  of  neighbor  and  of  brother.  And  to  such 
eager  listening  as  that  the  word  it  listens  for  surely 
comes.  May  we  so  listen  for  it  that  it  shall  come  to 
us! 


XIX. 

THE    PREEMINENCE   OF   CHRISTIANITY. 

"  Then  Simon  Peter  answered  him,  Lord,  to  whom  shall  we 
go  ?     Thou  hast  the  words  of  eternal  life." — John  vi.  68. 

It  seems  from  the  Bible  story  that  at  one  time — 
and  no  doubt  at  many  times  besides — many  of 
Christ's  disciples  went  back  and  walked  no  more 
with  Him.  Then  Jesus  turned  to  the  twelve  and 
said,  "  Will  ye  also  go  away  ?  "  And  Simon  Peter 
answered,  "  Lord,  to  whom  shall  we  go  ?  Thou  hast 
the  words  of  eternal  life."  It  appears  almost  as  if 
these  impetuous  words  really  showed  a  novel  feeling 
in  the  mind  of  Peter.  It  seems  as  if,  constantly 
keeping  company  with  Jesus,  it  never  had  occurred 
to  him  to  think  of  separation.  All  of  a  sudden  the 
retreating  crowd  and  Jesus'  question  put  that 
thought  before  him  ;  and  then  he  became  aware  that 
Christ  had  grown  to  be  absolutely  necessary  to  him. 
He  could  not  live  without  Him.  There  was  no  sub- 
stitute conceivable,  no  other  that  could  do  for  him 
that  which  his  Lord  was  doing  every  day.  And  this 
sudden,  almost  surprised  conviction  breaks  out  in 
the  strong  words,  "  Lord,  to  whom  shall  we  go  ? 
Thou  hast  the  words  of  eternal  life." 

320 


THE  PREEMINENCE  OF  CHRISTIANITY.        321 

If  this  be  all  true,  then  we  are  sure  that  afterwards 
Peter's  firm  hold  upon  Christ  must  have  been  firmer 
than  ever.  After  he  had  discovered  how  indispen- 
sable his  Saviour  was,  after  he  had  realized  that  no- 
body could  take  that  Saviour's  place  to  him,  his 
faith  must  have  had  a  new  assurance  in  it.  That 
moment's  recollection  must  have  made  his  denial 
harder  and  his  remorse  more  bitter  and  his  return 
more  eager.  For  there  is  always  a  sort  of  assurance 
of  a  thing's  value  which  comes  from  the  perception 
of  that  thing's  indispensableness.  When  we  find 
that  nothing  else  can  do  what  one  power  has  hope- 
fully undertaken,  and  are  fully  convinced  that  what 
that  power  has  undertaken  is  something  which  must 
be  done,  it  always  strengthens  our  belief  in  that 
power's  capacity  to  do  it.  Let  me  pass  in  this  way 
from  the  special  experience  of  St.  Peter  to  the  law 
which  I  wish  to  apply  to  religion  generally  to-day. 

If  any  army  learns  to  believe  not  merely  that  its 
general  is  brave,  but  that  he  is  the  only  man  in  all 
the  land  who  can  lead  them  on  to  victory,  they  will 
rally  round  him  all  the  more  enthusiastically.  It  is 
one  of  the  strongest  arguments  for  the  most  perma- 
nent and  universal  human  institutions  that  they  have 
no  substitutes.  Nothing  can  take  their  place.  Men 
grow  impatient  of  government,  and  they  attempt  to 
give  it  up  and  try  to  live  in  anarchy.  Men  are  dis- 
satisfied with  the  family  and  they  throw  it  aside  for 
the  community.  They  stand  aside  and  wait — those 
two  great  necessities,  the  family  and  government — 
sure  that  men  cannot  do  without  them.  They  stand 
and  wait  in  their  quiet  dignity,  till  men  too  find  how 


322        THE   PREEMINENCE   OF   CHRISTIANITY. 

necessary  they  are  and  come  to  them,  and  bring 
them  back  in  honor,  and  recrown  and  rethrone  them 
and  are  loyal  to  them  with  a  new  loyalty. 

I  want  to-day  to  plead  this  same  argument  for 
religion.  Is  it  true  that  for  religion  there  is  no  sub- 
stitute, that  there  are  certain  things  which  men  must 
always  hold  essential  which  she  can  do,  and  which 
she  only  can  do  ?  If  there  are — if  we  are  sure  that 
for  eternally  necessary  works  she  has  no  substitute, 
if  all  who  offer  themselves  to  take  her  place  are  evi- 
dently insufificient — then  we  are  sure  of  her,  sure 
that  however  her  throne  may  seem  dishonored, — • 
nay,  though  sometimes  it  may  seem  as  if  men  were 
ready  to  banish  her  out  of  the  world,  still  and  forever 
she  is  queen  and  must  come  back  to  a  sceptre  that 
none  but  she  can  wield.  This  is  no  abstract  argu- 
ment about  the  prospects  of  religion  in  the  world's 
future.  It  comes  close  to  men's  experiences.  It  has 
helped  many  of  us  when  the  interests  of  the  faith  we 
loved  seemed  dark.  It  is  capable  of  giving  strength 
to  many  a  soul  whose  confidence  in  religion  as  a  sav- 
ing power  is  shaken  by  some  loud,  temporary  phe- 
nomena of  irreligiousness.  It  makes  such  a  soul 
strong  to  know  that  for  the  power  which  men  seem 
to  despise  there  is  no  substitute,  that  it  and  it  alone 
can  do  for  man  those  highest  and  most  precious 
things  which  it  is  inconceivable  that  man  should  ever 
cease  to  desire. 

But  we  must  spend  a  few  moments  first  in  defini- 
tions, that  we  may  be  sure  we  know  of  what  we  are 
talking.  What  is  religion,  and  what  is  it  that  relig- 
ion undertakes  to  do  ?     I  answer  to  the  first  question 


THE   PREEMINENCE   OF   CHRISTIANITY.        323 

that  religion  is  the  force  which  inspires  man's  actions 
by  a  love  for  God  in  gratitude  for  what  God  has  done 
for  him.  Service  of  God  out  of  a  grateful  love  of 
God — that  is  religion.  "  We  love  Him  because  He 
first  loved  us,"  and  "  If  ye  love  me,  keep  my  com- 
mandments." That  is  religion.  "  Ah,  yes,"  you 
say,  perhaps — if  you  have  caught  the  new  talk  which 
is  very  current  nowadays — "  yes,  that  is  the  Chris- 
tian religion,  that  is  Christianity,  but  Christianity  is 
not  the  only  religion.  Religion  is  larger  than  Chris- 
tianity."  There  may  be  a  religion  without  a  Christ, 
— nay,  some  people  are  beginning  to  say — a  little 
bewilderingly — there  may  be  a  religion  without  a 
God ;  yet  still  I  claim  that  in  these  two  great  Chris- 
tian utterances  we  have  the  fundamental  truth  of 
what  religion  is.  I  own  in  full  the  spiritual  power 
which  there  is  in  every  attempt  of  heathenism  after 
God,  but  though  there  be  other  religions  than  the 
Christian,  surely  the  full  notion  of  religion  is  not  to 
be  gathered  out  of  their  imperfection,  but  out  of  the 
more  perfect  faith  which  does  what  they  try  to  do 
and  is  what  they  try  to  be.  If  a  man  asks  me  what 
4  tree  is,  I  will  not  send  him  to  a  stunted,  frost- 
bitten bush  high  up  Mount  Washington,  but  to  the 
oak  or  elm  which  under  the  best  conditions  has 
opened  the  tree  life  into  fullest  glory.  If  any  one 
asks  me  what  a  man  is,  I  will  not  show  him  a  Kaffir 
or  a  Hottentot,  but  the  best  specimen  of  manhood 
which  Europe  or  America  can  bring.  And  yet  the 
mountain  shrub  is  certainly  a  tree,  and  the  Hotten- 
tot is  certainly  a  man.  So  if  anybody  asks  me  what 
religion  is,  I  will  not  point  to  Mohammedanism  nor 


324        THE   PREEMINENCE   OF   CHRISTIANITY. 

to  Buddhism,  though  they  surely  are  rehgions;  I 
will  go  to  Christianity  and  in  its  central  motive  take 
out  the  real  central  force  of  all  religion.  Christianity 
sets  men  to  trying  to  do  God's  will  because  of  the 
Redemption  which  God  in  Christ  gave  them  from 
the  Cross.  Religion  is  the  service  of  God  out  of 
grateful  love  for  what  God  has  done  for  us. 

And  now  what  does  this  religious  motive  try  to 
do  ?  Again,  there  cannot  be  a  doubt  about  the  an- 
swer. The  effort  of  religion  is  to  perfect  the  man, 
to  bring  this  rich  and  manifold  life  of  man's  in  every 
part  of  it  out  to  its  perfectness.  There  cannot  be  a 
doubt  but  that  that  is  her  mission  as  she  comes 
down  with  her  great,  new,  strong  force.  When  I 
speak  of  religion,  as  I  said  just  now,  I  speak  of 
Christianity.  Christianity  comes  to  you — a  man 
with  great,  strong  powers,  with  a  great,  strong  na- 
ture, half-awakened,  working  away  vehemently  in 
some  parts  of  it,  torpid  and  dead,  entirely  uncon- 
scious of  itself  in  other  parts  of  it — the  religion  of 
Christ  comes  to  you  and  says,  "  See,  what  I  have  to 
show  you  !  "  It  holds  up  the  Cross  and  says,  "God 
loved  you  so  that  He  did  that  for  you  to  save  you 
from  your  sins  and  bring  you  back  to  Himself.  See 
how  He  plans  for  you.  See  how  He  suffers  for  you. 
See  how  He  loves  you.  Now,  to  thank  Him  and  to 
show  Him  that  you  love  Him  in  answer,  do  His  will. 
Here  is  all  righteousness,  all  goodness;  be  and  do 
all  this!  "  What  is  Christianity  aiming  at  when  it 
does  that  ?  You  say,  the  forgiveness  of  your  sins. 
No,  the  forgiveness  of  your  sins  is  not  her  end ;  it  is 
only  her  beginning.    She  would  give  nothing  to  have 


THE   PREEMINENCE   OF   CHRISTIANITY.        325 

you  forgiven  and  cleansed,  if  you  still  remained  un- 
changed and  undeveloped.  You  say  it  is  to  get  you 
into  heaven, — talking  about  heaven  as  if  it  were  a 
place  beyond  the  stars.  But  no,  religion  is  not  set 
upon  places,  she  is  not  busied  with  the  mere  geogra- 
phy of  the  universe.  She  would  not  care  for  you  in 
heaven  if  you  were  still  in  heaven  what  you  are  here 
upon  the  earth,  all  open  and  active  upon  the  sensual 
side  of  you,  all  closed  and  dead  upon  the  spiritual 
side.  No,  there  is  only  one  thing  worthy  of  this 
power  of  religion  to  attempt,  and  that  is  the  thor- 
ough perfection  of  your  soul.  With  a  serene  ambi- 
tion she  sets  her  eye  upon  that.  She  sees  you — you 
a  man  or  woman  engaged  here  in  common  worldly 
things  called  by  a  common  worldly  name,  putting 
out  the  exertion  of  a  few  of  the  simplest,  perhaps 
the  lowest  powers, — she  sees  you  holding  within 
yourself  all  the  time  immense  capacities,  untouched 
powers,  springs  all  wrapped  up  tight,  clinging  with 
the  rust  that  is  upon  their  unused  coils,  passions, 
desires,  hopes,  fears,  capacities  of  loving,  doing, 
suffering — all  these  this  eye  of  Christianity  sees 
waiting  inside  of  your  life  and  character.  Can  you 
conceive  of  Michael  Angelo  waiting  outside  a  house 
in  which  were  paints  and  brushes  and  great  walls  to 
paint  on,  gazing  into  the  window  and  saying,  "  If  I 
were  only  in  there  I  would  make  a  picture."  So 
Christianity  looks  in  on  your  nature  and  says,  "  If  I 
were  only  in  there  I  would  make  a  man.  I  would 
bring  that  being  to  his  perfection.  I  would  make 
him  come  up  to  and  fill  out  his  very  best,  spiritually, 
intellectually — yea,  physically — if  I  could  take  po? 


326        THE   PREEMINENCE   OF  CHRISTIANITY. 

session  of  him  and  set  him  to  loving  God  because 
God  first  loved  him,"  This  is  her  one  object.  She 
will  sacrifice  everything  to  this.  She  will  make  the 
man  suffer  very  often,  but  she  will  fulfil  his  life ;  she 
will  make  him  perfect,  make  him  like  God  by  bring- 
ing him  into  God's  kingdom. 

That  is  the  end  at  which  religion  aims.  Is  such 
an  end  desirable  ?  To  ask  the  question  is  to  answer 
it,  I  think.  I  take  it  for  the  sign  of  a  lofty  and  in- 
telligent man,  indeed  of  a  real  and  true  and  healthy 
man,  that  he  is  dissatisfied  and  anxious  if  he  sees 
anything  falling  short  of  its  complete  self,  of  the 
best  that  it  might  be,  whether  it  be  a  state  or  a 
plant,  a  statue  or  a  character.  Everything  desires 
and  seeks  its  highest.  A  true  man  is  conscious  of 
pain  when  he  sees  anything  miss  its  highest.  Most 
of  all  when  that  thing  is  man,  the  being  capable  of 
the  best  perfection,  the  being  for  whose  perfection 
everything  else  is  laboring.  We  must  reconstruct 
our  thoughts  of  the  purposes  of  everything  in  the 
world  before  the  perfection  of  human  character,  the 
making  of  the  perfect  man  can  cease  to  seem  the 
aim  of  all  things,  "the  consummation  most  devoutly 
to  be  wished  "  of  all  of  which  we  can  conceive.  One 
often  wonders  how  it  seems  to  many  of  the  men  who 
love  and  honor  their  humanity  and  yet  who  seem 
willing  to  see  religion  pass  away  as  a  power  among 
men,  whether  sometimes  there  does  not  come  a  mis- 
giving and  a  fear,  lest  if  it  went,  there  should  be  some 
parts  of  this  humanity  of  ours  which  would  no  longer 
find  any  true  culture,  and  so  the  hope  and  prospect 
of  the  perfect  man  be  lost  forever. 


THE   PREEMINENCE   OF  CHRISTIANITY.         327 

This,  then,  is  the  power  of  religion.  The  reHgious 
man  is  he  who  does  right  because  it  is  the  will  of  a 
God  to  whom  he  owes  so  much  that  all  which  he  can 
render  in  return  is  but  a  mere  acknowledgment,  not 
a  repayment  of  the  blessing  for  which  he  is  thank- 
ful. Here  is  a  force  of  life  that  knows  no  limit  short 
of  the  infinite  limit  of  what  God  has  done  for  man. 
It  never  can  exhaust  itself  till  man  has  paid  back  the 
unpayable  debt  of  God's  salvation.  It  reaches  every 
part  of  his  nature  and  tries  to  conform  it  perfectly 
to  the  will  of  God, — an  endless  spiritual  force  at- 
tempting the  vast  spiritual  task.  Let  me  see  this 
spiritual  force  at  work  and  I  know  just  what  is  going 
on.  I  see  a  religious  man,  and  how  clear  it  is ! 
Here  is  a  man  who  knows  that  God  loves  him 
That  has  been  made  clear  to  him  with  all  the  em- 
phasis of  the  suffering  of  Christ.  He  is  thoroughly 
grateful  for  that  love.  His  gratitude  is  at  the  root 
of  every  act  he  does.  And  in  that  life  of  service,  out 
of  gratitude  the  fulness  of  his  character,  the  com- 
pleteness of  his  humanity,  is  being  gradually  accom- 
plished. 

Now  take  the  question  with  which  we  started. 
This  is  what  religion  tries  to  do.  This  is  the  sort  of 
life  that  religion  as  a  force  and  rule  of  life  creates. 
And  now  is  there  any  other  force  beside  religion 
which  can  make  for  a  man  such  a  life  as  shall  bring 
him  completely  to  his  best  ?  Is  there  any  substitute 
for  religion  ?  Can  any  other  motive  power  besides 
gratitude  to  God  thoroughly  regulate  the  life  and 
fierfect  the  character  ? 

As  I  look  around  among  men  I  find  really  two 


32»        THE  PREEMINENCE  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 

attempted  substitutes  for  religion.  When  men  have 
got  to  be  more  than  brutes,  when  they  have  learned 
that  their  passions  must  be  restrained  and  that  they 
must  have  some  regulating  power  of  their  lives,  I 
seem  to  see  two  forces  or  impulses  which  to  many 
men  appear  to  be  quite  enough,  even  without  a 
grateful,  humble  love  of  God,  to  do  the  work  of  life 
with.  One  of  these  forces  is  expediency  and  the 
other  is  honor.  These  are  the  two  forces  that  men 
try  to  put  in  the  place  of  religion.  Let  us  look  at 
them  a  moment  and  see  if  they  are  fit  to  do  her 
work. 

I.  Look  first  at  expediency  as  a  motive  of  good 
living  and  a  means  of  human  development.  We  all 
know  how  frequently  it  appears  and  what  power  it 
very  often  has.  We  are  told  that  a  good  life  is  the 
best  life,  the  safest  and  the  happiest.  **  If  you  do 
what  is  wrong,  no  matter  what  may  be  the  present 
pleasure  of  it,  you  certainly  will  suffer.  If  you  do 
what  is  right,  no  matter  how  hard  the  struggle  to 
which  it  sets  you  now,  you  certainly  will  prosper. 
Therefore,  it  is  not  well,  it  is  not  prudent,  it  is  not 
expedient  to  be  wicked. ' '  The  doctrine  is  immensely 
true.  Its  certainty  is  emphasized  by  all  that  we 
already  know  of  human  history,  and  misgivings  of 
still  more  terrible  assertions  of  it  stretch  forward 
into  the  other  world.  And  the  doctrine  certainly  is 
lofty,  inasmuch  as  it  asserts  that  right  and  wrong  are 
not  mere  whims  and  fashions,  but  essential  and  eter- 
nal things,  that  they  have  to  do  with  the  very  struc- 
ture of  man  and  of  the  world,  that  both  man  and 
the  world  are  built  so  that  the  wrong  finds  its  pun- 


THE   PREEMINENCE  OF   CHRISTIANITY.        329 

ishment  and  the  right  its  reward.  And  certainly  it 
is  a  doctrine  which  does  to  a  very  great  extent  con- 
trol the  actions  of  mankind.  Some  people  will  even 
call  it  religion.  Some  people  will  make  religion  to 
be  nothing  but  a  great  system  of  expediency  stretch- 
ing out  into  the  world  beyond  the  grave.  But  I 
hope  that  you  have  seen  how  clearly  this  is  not 
religion.  The  religious  man  says,  "  This  is  right, 
and  I  will  do  it  because  God  wants  me  to  and  I  love 
Him  for  the  great  love  wherewith  he  has  loved  me." 
The  prudent  man  says,  "  This  is  right,  and  I  wiH  do 
it  because  it  will  be  best  for  me."  They  are  two 
different  things.  The  first  is  religious  and  the  sec- 
ond is  not  religious,  only  prudent. 

And  now  what  are  the  faults  of  this  system  of 
expediency  ?  How  does  it  fail  when  it  tries  to  put 
itself  into  the  place  of  religion  as  a  sufficient  force 
to  guide  the  lives  and  perfect  the  characters  of  men  ? 
You  have  seen  already  how  tame  and  dull  it  sounds 
beside  the  strong  motive  which  it  tries  to  supplant, 
how  utterly  it  lacks  the  enthusiasm  of  which  the 
other  is  full.  But  the  essential  objections  to  it  are 
two.  One  that  it  is  limited  in  its  range.  The  other 
that  it  is  selfish  and  low  in  its  spirit.  It  is  limited 
in  its  range.  If  the  reason  why  I  will  not  do  what 
is  wrong  is  that  I  shall  suffer  for  it,  will  there  not  be 
a  tendency  for  the  duty  of  resistance  to  concentrate 
itself  upon  those  acts  whose  evil  consequences  are 
most  manifest  and  certain  ?  I  shall  be  anxious  not 
to  do  that  which  I  know  will  instantly  bring  its 
vengeance,  and  I  shall  be  eager  to  do  that  which  I 
know  will  immediately  bless  me  with  its  reward. 


330        THE   PREEMINENCE   OF   CHRISTIANITY. 

Can  we  not  see  it  so  ?  The  prudent  moralist,  the 
moralist  whose  motive  power  is  prudence,  will  not 
do  the  acts  of  wanton  dissipation  which  will  tell  to- 
morrow or  a  few  years  hence  in  tottering  footsteps 
and  a  bewildered  brain ;  but  the  duties  of  spiritual 
culture,  of  chivalrous  self-denial  for  the  sake  of 
others,  of  humility,  of  self-surrender — although  they 
certainly  will  bear  their  fruits  far  off  under  the  warmer 
skies  and  in  the  richer  soil  of  eternity — by  their  very 
remoteness  lose  their  hold  upon  him.  The  notion 
of  duty  grows  narrow  and  confined  and  fastens 
itself  on  those  tasks  which  lie  in  the  most  restricted 
range  and  manifest  their  consequences. 

And  certainly  the  spirit  of  duty  done  from  the 
mere  motive  of  expediency  must  be  borne  down  by 
selfishness,  and  so  the  power  of  such  duty  to  elevate 
and  cultivate  the  character  must  be  defective.  I 
look  at  the  man  who  through  a  long  life  has  done 
what  is  right,  because  he  felt  satisfied  that  each 
right  act  would  help  him  and  advance  him,  who  has 
resisted  many  and  many  a  temptation  to  do  wrong 
because  he  knew  that  he  would  suffer  if  he  did  it;  I 
see  the  path  his  feet  have  walked  from  the  beginning 
to  the  end  of  life.  It  is  wonderfully  straight ;  it  has 
escaped  disgraces  in  a  wonderful  degree.  The  pit- 
falls of  temptation  it  has  left  on  either  hand.  It  is 
a  path  to  point  young  men  to,  that  they  may  see 
how  straight  a  conduct-line  may  run.  But  the  man 
who  has  walked  it  and  who  at  the  end  of  it  is  taking 
the  competence  and  the  reputation  that  his  upright 
life  has  won  him — has  he  attained  to  the  full  richness 
of  a  human  character  ?     A  lofty  selfishness,  but  still 


THE   PREEMINENCE   OF   CHRISTIANITY.        33 1 

a  selfishness,  has  been  behind  it  all.  If  you  suddenly 
bring  him  another  duty  which  involves  apparent 
entire  self-surrender,  is  he  ready  for  it  ?  Is  not  the 
very  presence  of  self-consciousness  at  all  a  hindrance  ? 
Are  there  not  parts  of  the  nature  whose  wild  and 
extravagant  action  you  often  see  and  are  often 
tempted  to  admire  in  very  bad  men — parts  of  the 
nature  which  are  evidently  essential  to  it  and  capable 
of  very  lofty  and  pure  exercise — which  do  not  show 
themselves  at  all  in  him  ? — capacities  of  self-forget- 
fulness  and  generosity  and  uncalculating  devotion  ? 

Christianity  is  beyond  all  doubt  the  most  expe- 
dient thing.  But  no  man  can  take  the  service  of 
Christ  for  its  expediency.  Unless  we  lift  it  to  a 
height  which  carries  it  beyond  itself,  unless  we  make 
selfishness  so  high  that  it  covets  for  itself  the  mere 
pure  satisfying  pleasure  of  giving  itself  away  in  grati- 
tude to  Christ,  the  power  of  selfish  expediency  fails. 
It  does  not  perfect  the  character.  Nothing  but 
complete  devotion  out  of  earnest  love  can  do  that ; 
and  such  a  devotion  to  God  is  religion. 

2.  But  turn  now  to  the  other  power  which  men 
attempt  to  substitute  for  religion  as  the  ruler  and 
inspirer  of  life.  I  called  it  honor.  It  is  that  feeling 
which  is  in  the  heart  of  almost  every  man,  the  sense 
of  self-respect  which  makes  him  say,  "  It  is  beneath 
my  dignity  to  do  a  mean  or  wicked  action."  Poor 
indeed  is  the  man  who  does  not  know  what  that 
feeling  is.  You  offer  a  man  a  temptation  to  steal. 
He  turns  away  and  will  not  steal  because  he  is  loyal 
to  his  master,  God.  That  is  religion.  He  draws 
back   and   will   not   steal   because  he  knows    that 


332        THE   PREEMINENCE   OF  CHRISTIANITY. 

"  Honor  is  the  best  policy,"  that  is  expediency. 
He  turns  indignantly  upon  you  and  says,  "  Do  you 
take  me  for  a  thief  ?  "  That  is  honor.  What  this 
great  instinct  of  honor  has  done,  it  is  hard  to  over- 
value. It  has  been  the  overruling  power  of  whole 
sections  of  society,  almost  of  whole  periods  of  his- 
tory. It  has  shone  with  splendid  lustre  in  the  eyes 
of  many  men,  till  it  seemed  to  them  all  that  human- 
ity needed  for  its  full  consummation.  It  has  had  its 
martyrs  who  have  given  up  their  lives  under  its  in- 
spiration. It  is  romantic.  It  is  the  power  of  chiv- 
alry. There  is  hardly  an  age  of  history  so  dark  that 
it  may  not  be  found  burning  there.  It  is  a  strong 
and,  as  it  seems  to  many  people,  a  sufficient  power 
here  to-day.  There  are  many  who  would  substitute 
the  principle  of  honor  for  the  principle  of  religion, 
many  who  think  that  the  self-respect  of  the  gentle- 
man is  enough  without  the  loving  consecration  of 
the  servant  of  God. 

But  what  is  this  honor  that  shines  so  splendidly  ? 
Is  it  conscience  quickened  and  filled  with  pride  ?  Its 
very  principle  of  life  is  pride.  It  is  a  man's  supreme 
consciousness  of  his  own  value,  so  strong  that  he 
recognizes  the  obligations  which  rest  upon  one  so 
valuable  as  he  is.  His  nobility  obliges  him.  The 
deficiencies  of  it  seem  to  be  premised  in  this  very 
definition,  and  they  show  out  all  through  the  his- 
tory of  its  influence  on  men. 

(i.)  It  is  partial  in  the  duties  it  selects.  It  is 
ready  to  inspire  men  for  those  tasks  which  ordinarily 
feed  men's  pride.  It  can  make  them  resent  injuries 
or  refuse  to  be  guilty  of  a  meanness,  but  it  is  rare 


THE  PREfiMINENCE  OF  CHRISTIANITY.        333 

that  honor  grows  so  deep  and  fine  that  it  will  make 
a  man  forgive  an  injury  or  submit  with  meekness  to 
a  slight.  Honor  can  manage  pretty  well  with  the 
second  table  of  the  commandments,  but  it  can  do 
really  nothing  with  the  Beatitudes. 

(2,)  Again  the  principle  of  honor  has  not  stability 
enough.  It  has  no  fixity  of  standards.  It  is  apt  to 
take  the  fleeting  fashions  of  the  hour  for  its  rule  of 
right.  It  grows  fantastic  and  unsound.  We  can- 
not ever  forget  that  for  ages  the  great  achievement 
of  the  principle  of  honor  was  the  brutal  and  unreas- 
onable practice  of  the  duel. 

(3.)  And  again,  it  brings  no  spiritual  elevation. 
Pride  is  always  a  source  of  weakness  and  degrada- 
tion. It  has  no  power  of  benefit  to  character.  In 
humility  only  does  the  soul  lie  open  and  take  in 
spiritual  life. 

(4.)  And  again,  the  power  of  honor,  of  mere  per- 
sonal dignity,  is  not  universal.  It  belongs  only  to 
certain  men  and  certain  moods.  It  never  has  been, 
and  it  is  hard  to  believe  that  it  can  be,  the  inspira- 
tion of  all  men  at  all  times. 

(5.)  And  yet  once  more,  it  is  cold, — bright,  but 
not  warm.  It  does  not  fire  the  soul  in  which  it 
dwells,  and  call  out  all  its  best  activities.  Its  mar- 
tyrs do  not  kindle  the  world  with  their  stake-fires. 
One  faithful  saint  has  more  enkindling  power  than  a 
whole  generation  of  mere  self-respecting  gentlemen. 

All  these  defects  the  principle  of  honor  has  with 
all  its  great  nobility.  We  would  not  for  a  moment 
pray  that  it  may  fail  or  die  away.  It  is  immensely 
higher  than  the  power  of  expediency.      Indeed  it 


334        THE    PREEMINENCE   OF   CHRISTIANITY. 

trembles  often  on  the  brink  of  being  something 
greater  than  itself.  It  is  often  almost  religious. 
But  always  there  is  this  clear  difference :  The  man 
of  honor  is  proud ;  the  man  of  religion  is  humble. 
The  man  of  honor  respects  himself.  He  thinks  of  a 
certain  dignity  settled  in  his  being  the  man  he  is. 
The  man  of  religion  no  less  respects  himself,  but  it 
is  a  self-respect  that  is  wholly  consistent  with  humil- 
ity,— nay,  it  is  a  self-respect  that  has  its  root  deep 
down  in  his  humility.  He  values  himself  not  for 
the  greatness  that  he  finds  in  his  own  nature,  for  he 
has  found  in  his  own  nature  weakness  and  sin.  He 
has  brought  that  nature,  ashamed  of  it,  to  God.  It 
is  because  God  has  taken  it  up  and  done  for  it  won- 
derful things,  that  he  sees  it  now  lustrous  with  the 
value  that  the  Cross  has  given  to  it,  and  worthy  of 
being  dedicated  to  Him  in  whose  service  it  can  find 
perfection.  That  is  the  self-respect  of  the  Christian 
— the  humble  reverence  in  which  the  servant  of  the 
Saviour  holds  the  soul  for  which  the  Saviour  lived 
and  died. 

These,  then,  are  the  two  substitutes  which  men 
are  trying  to  put  in  the  place  of  religion  and  compel 
to  do  its  work,  I  have  dwelt  upon  them  long;  I 
have  taken  up  almost  all  this  morning's  sermon  with 
their  description,  because  they  are  not  mere  figments 
of  the  preacher's  brain.  They  are  real  things. 
They  are  the  things  which  many  of  you  who  listen 
to  mc  are  trying  to  put  into  your  lives  in  the  motive 
place,  where  religion  ought  to  be.  I  do  not  speak 
to  those  who  are  mere  slaves  of  passion.  I  have 
preached  to  those  in  whose  hearts  there  were  real 


THE   PREEMINENCE   OF   CHRISTIANITY.        335 

desires  to  do  right.  Why  do  you  wish  it  ?  Is  it 
expediency  ?  Is  it  honor  ?  They  are  the  forces  of 
many  of  the  struggles,  the  real  hard  struggles  with 
sin,  out  of  which  you,  my  friends  and  people,  come 
here  Sunday  after  Sunday,  to  which  you  return 
after  our  service  together  here  is  over.  I  know  how 
far  these  forces  will  carry  you, — to  respectability,  to 
rectitude  in  every  dealing,  so  that  men  shall  honor 
you  while  you  live  and  praise  you  when  you  die. 
But  I  know  there  comes  a  point  beyond  which  they 
cannot  carry  you.  They  never  can  renew  your  life 
and  character.  By  them  you  never  can  be  born  again. 
They  never  can  set  you  on  the  broad  ground  of  en- 
thusiastic duty  stretching  out  into  eternity.  They 
have  good  words  to  say  to  you  about  this  life,  about 
the  regulation  of  your  daily  behavior,  but  the  disciple 
of  religion  hears  in  them  no  words  of  eternal  life,  no 
programme  of  existence  embracing  infinity,  full  at 
once  of  peace  and  inspiration,  such  as  he  finds  in  the 
service  of  his  beloved  Lord. 

This  is  the  reason  why  every  prudent  and  honorable 
man  here  needs  to  be  religious.  I  bid  you  ask  your- 
selves, are  these  things  substitutes  for  the  power  of 
grateful  consecration  to  God  ?  Can  they  do  the 
work  for  a  man  which  that  can  do  ?  You  are  a 
young  business  man ;  all  life  lies  out  before  you ; 
what  will  you  do  there  ?  You  will  do  right,  because 
so  only  can  you  prosper,  because  it  is  unworthy  of 
you  to  do  wrong.  Ah,  there  will  come  a  time  when 
to  do  what  is  right  will  demand  of  you  to  tread  your 
evident  prosperity  and  advantage  under  your  feet. 
There  will  come  times  when  every  standard  of  dig- 


336        THE   PREEMINENCE   OF   CHRISTIANITY. 

nity  and  honor  about  you  will  bid  you  do  some 
brilliant  act  which  you  know  is  wrong.  Worse  than 
that,  there  will  come  times — times  of  failure,  of 
bereavement,  of  sorrow,  of  despair,  almost — when 
you  will  seem  to  have  gone  quite  out  beyond  these 
powers;  their  strength  will  seem  to  be  exhausted. 
In  some  great  hour  of  pain  you  will  not  seem  to  care 
whether  you  prosper  or  not,  and  your  own  dignity 
and  honor  will  be  crushed  and  scattered  as  the  jewels 
are  scattered  when  a  sword  crashes  through  a  sol- 
dier's helmet  to  his  very  brain.  In  those  days  what 
will  you  do  ?  Then  you  must  have  some  "  words 
of  eternal  life."  Then  nothing  but  religion  can 
hold  you.  Then  will  not  the  words  you  need  be 
just  these  everlasting  words  of  Jesus,  "  If  any  man 
love  me  let  him  follow  me,  and  where  I  am,  there 
shall  also  my  servant  be, — in  my  peace,  my  confi- 
dence, my  love." 

O  my  dear  friends,  there  is  no  substitute!  The 
peace,  the  hope,  the  quiet  confidence,  the  humility, 
the  new  manhood,  cannot  come  except  by  religion, 
cannot  come  except  by  Christ.  "  Who  are  these  in 
white  raiment,"  the  thoroughly  white  raiment  of  a 
new  eternal  life  ?  Only  "  those  who  have  washed 
their  robes  and  made  them  white  in  the  blood  of  the 
Lamb."  Only  those,  that  is,  the  motive  of  whose 
new  life  is  the  grateful  love   of   their    Redeemer. 

He  died  for  all  that  they  which  live  should  not 
henceforth  live  unto  themselves  but  unto  Him  who 
died  for  them  and  rose  again  ' ' ;  for  all,  that  all 
might  live  to  Him, — for  you  and  me,  that  you  and 
I  might  live  to  Him,  and  so  come  to  our  own  best 
life  and  enter  into  His  glory. 


XX. 

THE   MITIGATION   OF   THEOLOGY. 

"  And  Moses  said  unto  him,  As  soon  as  I  am  gone  out  of  the  city 
I  will  spread  abroad  my  hands  unto  the  Lord  ;  and  the  thunder  shall 
cease,  neither  shall  there  be  any  more  hail,  that  thou  mayest  know  how 
that  the  earth  is  the  Lord's.  But  as  for  thee  and  thy  servants  I  know 
that  ye  will  not  yet  fear  the  Lord  God." — Exodus  ix.  29  and  30. 

Moses,  the  deliverer  of  the  Jews,  was  talking 
with  Pharaoh  their  oppressor,  the  King  of  the 
Egyptians.  Again  and  again  the  servant  of  God 
had  demanded  of  the  monarch  that  he  should  let 
God's  people  go;  again  and  again  as  the  monarch 
scornfully  refused,  God's  punishments  had  come, 
the  terrible  quick  blows  of  seven  of  the  plagues.  In 
the  midst  of  all  the  dreadful  discipline,  there  Pha- 
raoh had  stood  with  the  captive  people  held  tight  in 
his  relentless  fists.  The  more  God's  blows  beat  that 
closed  hand,  the  more  obstinate  it  seemed  to  grow. 
At  last  the  proud  king  cries  for  mercy  and  declares 
what  terms  he  will  make  with  God.  Let  God  change 
His  whole  treatment,  let  Him  spare  instead  of  pun- 
ishing, let  Him  lift  off  His  heavy  hand,  and  Pharaoh 
will  yield.  "  Entreat  the  Lord  (for  it  is  enough) 
that  there  be  no  more  mighty  thunderings  and  hail, 
and   I  will  let  you  go."     And  then  comes  Moses' 


338  THE   MITIGATION   OF  THEOLOGY. 

answer,  which  I  read, — God  will  change  His  treat- 
ment of  you;  God  will  take  off  His  hand;  "  The 
thunder  shall  cease,  neither  shall  there  be  any  more 
hail."  But  that  change  in  Him  will  not  bring  the 
change  in  you  that  you  desire.  The  milder  method 
will  not  bring  of  itself  what  the  severer  method 
failed  to  bring.  The  method  shall  be  changed  if  only 
to  show  that  God  has  many  methods  and  will  use 
them  all,  "  that  thou  mayest  know  that  the  earth  is 
the  Lord's.  But  as  for  thee  and  thy  servants,  I 
know  that  ye  will  not  yet  fear  the  Lord."  No 
change  of  treatment  of  itself  can  bring  a  change  of 
heart.  Let  the  heart  be  right  and  any  treatment  of 
God  can  interpret  Him  to  His  child. 

The  future  proved  that  Moses  spoke  the  truth. 
"  The  heart  of  Pharaoh  was  hardened,  neither  would 
he  let  the  children  of  Israel  go."  That  was  most 
natural.  Indeed  the  whole  story  is  full  of  human 
nature,  so  full  that  it  is  really  a  parable  of  what  is 
happening  all  the  time.  It  is  this  value  of  it  which 
I  want  to  use  this  morning.  I  want  to  make  it  my 
text  while  I  try  to  point  out  the  danger  of  the  new- 
est religious  life  of  our  own  time.  If  I  am  not  mis- 
taken, this  story  of  Pharaoh  and  especially  these 
words  which  Moses  speaks  to  him,  contain  the  truth 
which  they  are  much  in  danger  of  forgetting,  and  in 
much  need  of  remembering,  who  rejoice  most  loudly 
in  those  changed  aspects  of  the  Christian  faith  which 
belong  to  these  present  days. 

The  general  character  of  the  change  which  has 
taken  and  is  taking  place  in  Christian  faith  is  plain. 
Under   many  forms    as    it    applies   itself  to  many 


THE   MITIGATION   OF  THEOLOGY.  339 

special  doctrines  it  is  one  in  spirit.  It  is  a  desire  to 
escape  from  the  severer,  stricter,  more  formal,  more 
exacting  statements  of  truth  and  duty,  and  to  lay 
hold  of  the  gentler,  more  gracious,  more  spiritual, 
more  indulgent  representations  of  God  and  of  what 
He  asks  of  man.  I  shall  have  occasion  to  say  before 
long  how  deeply  I  sympathize  with  this  great  change 
in  the  aspect  of  faith,  how  truly  I  believe  that  in  it 
there  is  prophesied  a  new  and  richer  coming  of  the 
kingdom  of  the  Lord  of  love  and  life.  But  now  at 
first  I  ask  you  only  to  note  the  fact,  which  no 
thoughtful  and  observant  man  can  fail  to  see,  and 
then  to  observe  how  many  men  among  us,  how  we 
all  perhaps  sometimes,  are  led  on  to  attribute  a 
power  to  such  a  change  in  men's  thoughts  of  God 
and  of  His  ways  which  no  mere  change  of  thought, 
however  it  may  be  from  the  less  to  the  more  true, 
ever  can  possess.  We  glory  in  the  fuller  spirit  of 
the  New  Testament  which  pervades  our  religion. 
The  stern  judge  of  the  older  dispensation  is  lost  be- 
hind the  gracious  and  merciful  presence  of  the 
Christ.  Pity  is  more  than  judgment,  sympathy 
more  than  authority,  persuasion  more  than  rebuke, 
in  the  God  of  whom  men  are  thinking,  of  whom 
men  are  preaching  now.  As  we  talk  thus  it  some- 
times seems  to  us  as  if  the  work  of  religion  for  the 
world  and  for  us  would  be  accomplished  when  these 
new  and  glorious  ideas  shall  have  become  supreme 
and  universal.  Sin  will  be  conquered,  man  will  be 
saved,  when  the  old,  severe  theology  shall  be  en- 
tirely dethroned  and  men  hear  everywhere  the  truth 
of  truths,  that  "  God  is  love."     At  such  a  time  it 


340  THE   MITIGATION   OF  THEOLOGY. 

seems  to  me  that  some  one  ought  to  speak  the  very 
words  that  Moses  spoke  to  Pharaoh,  "  The  thunder 
shall  cease,  neither  shall  there  be  any  more  hail. 
But  as  for  thee  and  thy  servants  I  know  that  ye  will 
not  yet  fear  the  Lord  God."  The  mercy,  the  pity, 
the  tenderness,  the  long-suffering,  the  humanness  of 
God — these  shall  be  shown  to  man  as  man  has  never 
seen  them,  but  be  sure  that  not  these  aspects  of  God 
nor  any  others  of  themselves,  not  this  theology  nor 
any  other  of  itself,  can  make  men  good,  can  turn  men 
from  their  sins,  can  do  away  with  the  fundamental 
necessities  of  personal  struggle,  personal  consecra- 
tion, personal  holiness  in  human  lives.  It  seems  to 
me  that  men  are  very  much  in  danger  now  of  attrib- 
uting to  a  liberal  and  spiritual  theology  that  same 
impossible  virtue  which  men  in  other  times  attributed 
to  a  hard  and  formal  theology, — a  virtue  which  really 
no  theology  can  possess,  the  virtue  of  itself  to  make 
men  good  and  strong  and  pure.  Against  that  dan- 
ger I  want  to  warn  you  and  myself.  To  many  an 
ardent,  many  a  noisy  champion  of  the  love  of  God 
as  against  His  sternness  and  His  wrath,  it  seems  as 
if  God  must  be  sadly  saying,  "  Yes,  I  will  show  you 
all  my  love.  But  yet  I  know  that  you  will  not  fear 
me." 

One  striking  illustration  of  what  I  am  saying 
meets  us  very  often.  Constantly  in  New  England, 
which  a  generation  ago  was  full  of  the  sternest 
teachings,  I  hear  the  lamentations  of  men  who  were 
brought  up  under  the  Puritan  theology.  I  have 
grown  familiar  to  weariness  with  the  self-excuse  of 
men  who  say,  "  Oh,  if  I  had  not  had  the  terrors  of 


THE   MITIGATION  OF  THEOLOGY.  34I 

the  Lord  so  preached  to  me  when  I  was  a  boy,  if  I 
had  not  been  so  confronted  with  the  woes  of  hell 
and  the  awfulness  of  the  judgment  day,  I  should  be 
religious  to-day,  I  should  have  been  religious  long 
ago."  My  friends,  I  think  I  never  hear  a  meaner  or 
a  falser  speech  than  that.  Men  may  believe  it  when 
they  say  it — I  suppose  they  do — but  it  is  not  true. 
It  is  unmanly,  I  think.  It  is  throwing  on  their 
teaching  and  their  teachers,  or  their  fathers  and 
their  mothers,  the  fault  which  belongs  to  their  own 
neglect,  because  they  never  have  taken  up  the  earnest 
fight  with  sin  and  sought  through  every  obstacle  for 
truth  and  God.  It  has  the  essential  vice  of  dog- 
matism about  it,  for  it  claims  that  a  different  view  of 
God  would  have  done  for  them  that  which  no  view 
of  God  can  do,  that  which  must  be  done,  under  any 
system,  any  teaching,  by  humility  and  penitence 
and  struggle  and  self-sacrifice.  Without  these  no 
teaching  saves  the  soul.  With  these,  under  any 
teaching,  the  soul  must  find  its  Father. 

Again  I  say  that  I  believe  the  new  is  better  than 
the  old.  The  new  theology  in  all  its  great  general 
characteristics  I  love  with  all  my  heart;  I  rejoice  to 
preach  it  as  Moses  must  have  felt  his  heart  fill  with 
joy  as  he  went  forth  to  pray  for  the  calm  sky  and 
the  stilled  thunder.  But  just  because  I  love  it  and 
believe  in  it,  I  want  to  say  most  earnestly  that  there 
is  no  essential  power  in  it  to  release  man  from  the 
hard  and  inexorable  necessities  and  duties  by  which 
alone  man  treads  his  unbelief  and  sin  under  his  feet 
and  comes  to  God. 

I  hold,  then,  this,  that  the  change  which  so  de- 


342  THE  MITIGATION   OF  THEOLOGY. 

lights  man's  imagination  and  kindles  his  ambition, 
the  change  from  the  arbitrary  to  the  essential,  from 
the  awful  to  the  gentle,  from  the  narrow  to  the 
broad,  from  the  formal  to  the  spiritual,  is  always  a 
change  from  the  easy  to  the  hard,  and  not,  as  men 
are  always  choosing  to  think  it,  from  the  hard  to 
the  easy.  It  is  so  everywhere.  In  government,  the 
old  method  of  despotism  breaks  open  and  the  new 
life  of  popular  freedom  comes  forth.  Men  shout  as 
if  the  race  were  saved.  Now  all  men  will  be  happy ! 
Now  all  men  will  be  good!  What  are  we  finding  ? 
Alas  for  him  whom  any  dangers  that  proceed  from 
liberty  would  drive  to  think  for  one  base  moment  of 
shutting  back  the  tide  of  freedom  behind  the  hard 
barriers  of  personal  authority  again !  His  folly  is 
only  made  harmless  by  its  hopelessness.  But  alas 
also  for  the  nation  or  the  citizen  which  does  not 
learn  that  to  live  in  freedom  is  harder  than  to  live  as 
a  slave,  that  liberty  of  itself  makes  no  people  and 
no  man  prosperous  or  good,  that  self-restraint  and 
honesty  and  generosity  and  independence,  if  they 
are  the  crown  upon  the  head  of  a  benignant  despot- 
ism, are  the  very  life-blood  in  the  veins  of  a  self- 
governing  republic.  Or  think  of  education.  We  used 
to  dictate  arbitrary  schemes  of  study  to  our  college 
students  and  to  what  we  chose  to  call  our  educated 
men ;  now  we  throw  open  the  whole  field  of  learning 
and  say  to  the  studying  man,  ay,  even  to  the  sopho- 
more in  our  colleges,  "  Go  study  what  you  will,  and 
if  you  learn  it  we  will  call  you  learned."  Is  the 
student's  task  easier  or  harder  than  it  used  to  be  ? 
Alas  for  him  who  thinks  it  easier,  who  thinks  that 


THE  MITIGATION  OF  THEOLOGY.  343 

the  license  to  be  learned  where  he  will  has  any  way 
annulled  the  everlasting  law  that  knowledge  only 
comes  by  toil !  Happy  for  him  who  sees  at  once 
that  the  new  liberty  demands  of  him  severer  self- 
control  and  a  more  conscientious  just  because  a  freer 
work!  The  methods  of  dictation  and  despotism 
attempted  less  but  they  were  more  likely  to  do  what 
they  attempted  than  the  free  selection  and  the  per- 
sonal self-government  are  to  attain  their  higher 
ends.  Where  the  boy  turns  into  the  man,  where 
the  drudge  turns  into  the  scholar,  where  the  slave 
steps  forth  to  liberty,  where  the  Eden  of  guarded 
virtue  opens  into  the  world  of  self-deciding  moral 
life,  there  always  the  easy  changes  to  the  hard, 
there  always  the  wise  soul  hears  anew  the  old  words 
of  God,  "  Thorns  also  and  thistles  shall  it  bring 
forth  to  thee,"  and  "  In  the  sweat  of  thy  face  shalt 
thou  eat  bread. ' ' 

But  let  us  come  more  directly  to  our  subject. 
The  change  of  which  I  spoke  in  the  character  of 
religious  faith  shows  everywhere,  and  I  want  to 
follow  it  into  some  of  its  special  manifestations.  So 
we  shall  best  perceive  the  danger  which  I  said  be- 
longs to  it.  In  the  first  place,  then,  it  involves  a 
change  in  the  whole  conception  of  the  religious  mo- 
tive. What  is  it  that  religiously  makes  men  good 
and  keeps  them  from  being  bad  ?  It  used  to  be,  no 
doubt,  the  fear  of  the  punishment  that  God  would 
send  them  if  they  sinned.  It  is  becoming  more  and 
more  the  perception  of  what  a  high  life  is  set  before 
the  soul  if  it  does  right,  and  the  sight  of  God's  love 
which  a  loving  soul  dreads  to  offend.      From  fear 


344  THE   MITIGATION  OF  THEOLOGY. 

to  love !  Not  that  the  change  is  absolute,  not  that 
there  ever  was  a  Christian  faith  which  was  not  all 
pervaded  with  the  power  of  love,  not  that  there  ever 
can  be  a  true  faith  in  God  so  loving  that  it  shall  not 
be  solemnized  by  fear,  but  as  the  prominent,  the 
conscious,  the  recognized  and  trusted  power,  it  is 
the  love  of  God  and  not  the  fear  of  God  that  fills 
the  eye  of  worshipping  manhood  more  and  more. 
This  outbreak  of  protest  against  the  dreadful  doc- 
trine of  endless  punishment  is  really  nothing  but  an 
utterance  of  the  profound  conviction  that  not  by 
threats  of  punishment,  however  awful  and  however 
true,  but  by  the  promises  of  love,  are  men  to  be 
brought  into  the  best  obedience  to  God. 

The  change  which  the  dethronement  of  that  dog- 
ma and  all  the  terrible  theology  which  belonged  to 
it  has  brought,  is  so  radical  that  we  cannot  fully 
comprehend  or  state  it,  but  it  fills  us  with  joy.  It 
has  made  religion  a  new  thing  for  multitudes  of 
souls.  It  has  swept  the  heavy  cloud  away  and  let 
the  sunlight  into  many  a  life.  It  has  brought  fer- 
tility to  many  a  desert.  And  the  thanksgivings  of 
men  and  women  who  have  found  that  their  religion 
may  be  just  the  love  of  God  because  He  has  loved 
them,  and  that  in  that  pure  love  lies  their  salvation, 
make  the  song  and  glory  of  these  new  years  of  God. 
No  wonder  if  amid  such  joy  the  danger  comes,  no 
wonder  if  there  are  men  who,  thinking  they  have 
discovered  that  there  is  no  hell,  seem  thereby  to 
have  secured  their  place  in  heaven,  as  if  to  be  in 
heaven  were  nothing  greater  and  better  than  to  be 
out  of  hell.     No  wonder  that  one  hesitates,  eveo 


THE   MITIGATION  OF  THEOLOGY.  345 

when  he  believes  the  truth  with  all  his  heart,  to  go 
to  certain  men  and  declare  what  he  believes,  because 
he  knows  that  it  will  seem  to  them  as  if  at  once  the 
old  need  of  struggle,  the  old  criticalness  of  living 
were  gone  with  the  old  fear  of  hell ;  as  if  some  easy 
way  of  holiness  had  been  flung  open  instead  of  the 
straight  and  narrow  way  that  always  has  led,  that 
always  must  lead,  to  everlasting  life.  But  surely  if 
anywhere  our  principle  is  true  that  the  change  from 
the  less  to  the  greater  is  a  change  not  from  the  hard 
to  the  easy,  but  from  the  easy  to  the  hard,  it  is  true 
here.  Suppose  I  am  a  true  believer  in  the  old  idea 
of  government  by  terror.  Let  it  stand  to  me  in  its 
blankest  form, — I  am  trying  not  to  sin  because  if  I 
do  sin  I  shall  go  to  everlasting  torment.  Under 
that  fear  I  study  all  the  law  and  try  to  keep  it  all ;  I 
pray,  I  watch ;  I  give  myself  no  rest ;  never  for  a 
moment  is  the  hand  that  presses  down  on  me  re- 
laxed ;  never  for  a  moment  are  those  blazing  com- 
mandments lost  from  before  my  eyes.  I  am  afraid 
to  disobey.  No  doubt  the  obedience  that  comes  is 
hard,  and  narrow,  formal,  and  superficial,  but  an 
obedience  does  come.  What  such  a  fear  can  do  it 
does.  But  let  the  liberation  dawn.  Let  the  larger 
faith  of  love  take  me  into  its  power.  Let  me  begin 
to  serve  God,  not  for  His  terror  but  for  His  dear- 
ness.  A  larger,  nobler,  sweeter  life  at  once !  The 
sky  is  broader  and  the  world  is  bigger !  But  oh !  the 
new  exactingness  of  this  new  service.  Oh !  the  way 
in  which  the  deep  affections,  all  unstirred  before, 
begin  to  hear  the  call  of  duty.  Now  they  must 
waken.     Not  the  hands  only,  now  the  very  heart 


346  THE   MITIGATION   OF  THEOLOGY. 

must  obey.  As  much  deeper  as  this  new  love  lies 
below  that  old  terror,  so  much  deeper  must  the  new 
watchfulness  and  scrupulousness  go  below  the  old. 
Not  now  to  escape  from  pain,  but  to  be  worthy  of 
this  divine  love  the  soul  aspires.  Its  dangers  become 
far  more  subtle  and  at  the  same  time  far  more  dan- 
gerous. A  finer  spiritual  machinery  must  respond 
to  this  finer  and  more  spiritual  power ;  and  struggle 
comes  to  mean  for  the  soul  something  so  much  more 
intense  that  it  seems  as  if  all  that  it  had  before  called 
struggle  were  the  most  placid  calm. 

My  dear  friend,  unless  this  is  its  efTect  in  us  our 
milder  conception  of  God's  present  and  future  deal- 
ing with  the  souls  of  men,  however  true  it  may  be 
in  itself,  is  a  curse  to  us  and  not  a  blessing.  Unless 
it  does  this  for  us  we  are  making  the  truth  of  God 
have  the  power  of  a  lie.  We  ought  to  be  afraid  of 
any  theology  which  tampers  with  the  sacredness  of 
duty  and  the  awfulness  of  life.  I  would  far  rather 
be  a  believer  in  the  most  material  notions  of  eternal 
penalty  and  get  out  of  that  belief  the  hard  and 
frightened  solemnity  and  scrupulousness  which  it 
has  to  give,  than  to  hold  all  the  sweet  broad  truth 
to  which  God  is  now  leading  us  and  have  it  make  life 
seem  a  playtime  and  the  world  a  game.  No !  What 
one  wants  to  plead  with  every  soul  whom  he  sees 
going,  whom  perhaps  he  himself  is  trying  to  lead 
into  the  new  motive  of  love,  away  from  the  old  mo- 
tive of  fear,  is  this :  Remember  that  you  are  going 
where  duty  will  grow  not  less  but  more  imperious. 
Remember  that  watchfulness,  obedience,  righteous- 
ness, will  mean  far  more  deep  and  sacred  things  to 


THE   MITIGATION   OF  THEOLOGY.  347 

you  there  than  they  have  meant  before.  Go  there 
expecting  life  and  salvation  to  become  a  thousand- 
fold more  solemn.  Go  there  expecting  sin  to  be 
vastly  more  dreadful.  O  you  who  glory  in  your 
new  faith,  see  what  it  asks  of  you  !  See  what  you 
must  be  to  be  worthy  of  it !  See  what  a  deeper 
vigilance,  what  a  more  utter  consecration,  there 
must  be  in  this  new  soul  to  which  it  has  been  shown 
that  he  is  to  be  saved  not  by  the  fear  but  by  the 
love  of  God ! 

I  turn  to  another  somewhat  different  development 
of  the  freer — what  some,  no  doubt,  will  call  the 
looser — religious  thinking  which  pervades  our  time, 
that  which  concerns  the  whole  matter  of  belief  in 
doctrine.  Orthodoxy  used  to  mean  the  intelligent 
and  convinced  reception  of  a  large  number  of  clearly 
defined  propositions  about  God  and  Christ  and  man. 
Orthodoxy  now,  for  many  men,  has  come  to  mean 
a  sympathetic  entrance  into  the  spirit  and  genius  of 
Christianity,  and  especially  a  cordial  personal  loyalty 
to  Jesus.  I  know  that  here  there  is  a  true  and  great 
advance.  I  know  the  man  who  seeks  to  understand 
his  Saviour  is  nearer  to  the  New  Testament  than  the 
man  who  merely  learns  his  creed?  In  all  those 
sacred  pages  the  idea  of  doctrinal  orthodoxy  is 
very  vague.  In  the  Gospels  it  hardly  shows  at  all. 
The  idea  of  personal  sympathy  and  personal  loyalty 
is  everything.  "  Whom  say  ye  that  I  am  ? "  that  is 
the  ceaseless  question.  And  so  I  know  that  a  man 
has  come  nearer  to  the  mind  of  Christ  when  he 
thinks  that  his  work  in  life  is  to  enter  into  the  genius 
of  Christian  truth  and  to  be  the  friend  and  disciple 


348  THE   MITIGATION  OF  THEOLOGY, 

of  Jesus,  rather  than  to  satisfy  himself  of  the  truth 
of  many  inferential  propositions  drawn  from  what 
Christ  and  his  apostles  said.  But  here,  again,  the 
believer  in  this  new  and  better  method  is  all  wrong 
if  he  thinks  that  it  opens  to  him  an  easier  or  less 
exacting  spiritual  experience  than  that  in  which  he 
used  to  live  when  he  was  the  champion  of  doctrines 
and  of  creeds.  It  needs  a  greater  man  to  be  a  Chris- 
tian in  the  spirit  than  in  the  letter  of  the  faith.  He 
who  undertakes  it  must  be  prepared  for  deeper  men- 
tal experiences,  for  doubts  beside  which  the  old 
doubts  shall  seem  child's  play,  for  a  complete  obedi- 
ence of  which  he  never  dreamed  till  he  began  to  seek 
not  only  the  truth  of  Christ  but  Christ  the  truth. 
For  all  experience  tells  us  that  a  man  may  pretty 
easily  believe  any  statement  of  truth  which  he  wants 
to  believe.  Intent,  exclusive  fixing  of  the  mind 
upon  it  will  almost  certainly  make  it  seem  true. 
But  how  much  more  than  that  is  needed  when  I 
have  to  enter  into  the  soul  of  a  great  system  of  sal- 
vation like  Christianity,  or  to  make  myself  the  disci- 
ple, with  a  discipleship  that  shall  renew  me  into  the 
likeness  of  a  spiritual  Lord  like  Christ.  What  repres- 
sion of  myself,  what  independence  of  my  fellow-men, 
what  opening  of  the  inmost  secret  places  of  my  life 
to  Him!  I  know  that  I  could  convince  a  man  that 
a  certain  theory  of  the  atonement  was  true,  that 
what  Christ  did  for  man  upon  the  Cross  was  just 
exactly  this  or  this,  with  far  less  strain  upon  His 
spiritual  power,  with  far  less  calling  out  of  his  pro- 
foundest  faith,  than  I  should  need  in  order  to  make 
him  know  the  mystery  of  the  Christhood  in  which 


THE  MITIGATION  OF  THEOLOGY.  349 

our  dear  Lord  not  merely  wrought  but  was  the  per- 
fect atonement  for  our  sins.  One  would  need  a 
persuaded  mind  ;  the  other  needs  a  quickened  soul, 
alive  with  all  the  same  purposes  that  filled  the  soul 
of  Jesus. 

Therefore  it  is,  I  say,  that  the  new  faith  demands 
a  larger  man  and  a  profounder  belief  than  that 
which  went  before.  Oh,  do  not  think  that  because 
men  no  longer  dare  to  ask  you  whether  you  believe 
this  or  that  doctrine  and  to  decide  whether  or  not 
you  are  a  Christian  by  your  answer,  that  therefore 
belief  has  grown  a  slight  and  easy  thing.  As  their 
poor  questions  fade  and  die  away,  all  the  more  deep 
and  awful  in  the  soul's  ear  grows  the  profounder 
question  of  the  Lord  Himself  which  they  used  to 
silence,  "  What  think  ye  of  me  ?  "  "  Whom  say  ye 
that  I  am  ?  "  Be  sure  that  if  you  are  to  be  a  worthy 
man  of  the  new  faith,  a  worthy  Christian  of  the  new 
time,  your  heart  must  be  strong  to  a  more  heroic 
capacity  of  believing  what  men  call  impossible. 
Your  thread  of  unbelief  in  the  new  sight  you  have 
of  its  spiritual  essence  must  be  far  more  deep,  and 
your  closet  must  witness  far  more  earnest  pleadings 
with  the  God  of  faith  than  any  that  the  old  days  of 
dogmatism  ever  saw. 

3.  I  take  another  illustration  from  the  field  of 
man's  relation  to  his  fellow-man  in  spiritual  things. 
It  was  a  great  advance  when  gradually  the  idea  of 
spiritual  directorship  narrowed  its  range  before  the 
progress  of  the  idea  of  personal  responsibility.  Once 
the  whole  Christian  world  teemed  with  confessionals. 
Certain  chosen  souls  sat  by  the  highways  of  all  life, 


350  THE   MITIGATION   OF  THEOLOGY. 

often  with  the  tenderest  solicitude,  often  too  with 
wondrous  skill  and  experience,  all  purified  and  made 
the  more  acute  by  wondrous  sympathy,  to  tell  all 
their  puzzled  brethren  how  to  unsnarl  their  skeins  of 
tangled  life,  what  was  their  duty,  in  which  way  they 
ought  to  go.  It  belonged  to  all  kinds  of  churches 
of  every  creed,  of  every  name.  That  day  is  past 
over  a  very  large  proportion  of  the  Christian  world. 
Wherever  it  has  passed  it  never  can  come  back 
again.  Here  and  there  some  men  who  dread  the 
dangers  of  the  new  life  for  their  brethren  are  drag- 
ging out  the  long-overthrown  confessional  from  the 
rubbish  of  the  ages  under  which  it  lies  and  trying  to 
set  its  shattered  and  unsteady  framework  in  its  place 
again ;  or  else  they  go  and  borrow  one  from  that 
part  of  the  Christian  world  which  has  not  yet  dis- 
owned its  use.  Here  and  there  some  puzzled  soul 
cries  out  for  it  and  begs  the  Church  to  take  a  power 
which  her  Lord  never  gave  her,  and  tell  it  just  how 
it  shall  sail  its  most  bewildered  life.  These  are 
anachronisms  and  exceptions.  The  world  in  which 
we  live,  the  world  of  progress,  the  modern  world, 
the  modern  man  wants  no  confessional  and  asks  the 
Church  to  give  him  not  minute  rules  of  duty,  but 
great  inspirations  and  broad  principles  of  life.  For 
the  application  of  those  principles,  for  the  special 
life  he  ought  to  live  from  day  to  day,  from  hour  to 
hour,  he  appeals  to  his  own  conscience.  Is  the  mod- 
ern man  right  ?  Indeed  he  is!  The  life  that  he 
alone  must  carry  up  to  God  at  last,  he  alone  must 
carry  through  this  world  of  temptation  now.  He  is 
doing  a  noble  act,  an  act  to  which  his  manhood 


THE   MITIGATION  OF  THEOLOGY.  35 1 

binds  him  and  in  which  his  manhood  is  asserted 
when  he  goes  up  to  the  church,  or  to  the  priest,  and 
says,  "  Give  me  my  life,  for  I  must  live  it.  Help 
me,  advise  me,  inspire  me  all  you  can,  but  give  me 
my  life  for  I  must  live  it."  Only,  it  is  of  infinite 
importance  into  what  sort  of  hands  he  takes  that 
life  of  his,  whether  into  hands  trembhng  with  anxi- 
ety or  into  hands  greedy  and  coarse  with  pride.  I 
think  that  to  the  best  souls  of  our  time  there  is, 
with  all  the  exhilaration  that  comes  of  the  sense  of 
freedom,  a  pathos  that  is  almost  sad  about  this  new 
consciousness  of  personal  independence,  which  no 
man  can  disown,  with  which  the  light  souls  play  as 
children  might  play  with  battle  flags,  but  in  which 
lies  unfolded  a  possibiHty  of  tragedy  which  no  man 
has  begun  to  fathom.  The  best  souls  seem  to  come 
to  life  as  the  morning  comes  to  the  world,  all  flushed 
and  bright  with  hope,  but  pausing,  lingering,  creep- 
ing up  the  sky  as  if  the  day's  work  it  saw  before  it 
was  too  great.  Oh,  how  much  easier  to  find  my 
priest  and  have  him  tell  me  what  I  ought  to  do  than 
to  seek  it  and  find  it  for  myself  in  all  this  maze  of 
doubt,  hidden  under  all  this  heap  of  passion,  preju- 
dice, and  pride !  Certainly  no  man  is  worthy  to  live 
in  these  new  days,  and  be  a  modern  man  in  the  pure 
church  where  no  spiritual  directorship  is  tolerated, 
who  dares  to  be  frivolous,  who  is  not  constantly 
and  almost  overwhelmingly,  aware  that  to  guide 
one's  own  life  is  not  and  cannot  be  an  easy  thing, 
who  is  not  made  all  the  more  humbly  dependent 
upon  God  by  the  independence  of  his  fellow-men 
which  his  soul  steadfastly  claims. 


352  THE  MITIGATION  OF  THEOLOGY. 

It  would  be  interesting,  if  we  had  time,  to  trace 
the  clear  illustration  of  our  truth  in  relation  to  the 
institutions  of  religion  and  the  use  that  men  make 
of  them.  There,  too,  a  freer  method  reigns. 
There,  too,  the  freer  method  is  an  advance  upon  the 
stricter  method  just  in  proportion  as  it  secures  more 
fully  the  purposes  for  which  the  institutions  all  exist. 
For  instance,  there  is  a  less  constrained  observance 
of  Sunday.  There  are  larger  notions  of  what  con- 
stitutes the  sacredness  of  the  Day  of  Rest.  Is  it  a 
gain  or  a  loss,  this  departure  from  the  severer  rules 
in  which  we  lived  some  twenty  years  ago  ?  As 
Christians  we  can  give  but  one  answer :  It  is  a  gain 
so  far  as  it  makes  a  more  reasonable,  a  more  volun- 
tary, a  brighter  and  freer  religion  possible.  If  it 
does  that,  because  it  does  that,  we  are  glad  of  the 
new  spirit  that  fills  the  Lord's  Day.  We  rejoice 
that  its  distinct  difference  from  the  Jewish  Sabbath 
has  been  distinctly  shown,  because  thereby  the 
chance  is  opened  for  us  to  gain  perfectly  out  of  our 
Lord's  Day  what  the  Jew  could  only  gain  most  im- 
perfectly by  his  most  scrupulous  Sabbatical  pro- 
priety. The  larger  liberty  of  Sunday  is  beautiful  to 
us  because  it  means  not  the  throwing  away,  but  the 
true  keeping  of  the  Lord's  Day  by  the  man  for 
whom  it  was  made.  There  is  a  Sunday  conceivable 
on  which  no  Hebrew  shadow  rests,  a  Sunday  full  of 
spontaneousness  and  delight,  a  Sunday  when  the 
soul  honors  its  Lord  not  merely  by  turning  aside  to 
some  fenced  and  protected  regions  of  its  life  where 
alone  it  seems  to  it  that  He  abides,  but  when  it 
touches  the  familiar  things  of  the  other  days  with 


THE  MITIGATION   OF  THEOLOGY.  353 

new  hands  and  looks  on  them  with  new  enlightened 
eyes,  and  finds  them  sacred  and  full  of  light, — a 
Sunday  whose  proper  occupations  are  broadly  and 
freely  dictated  by  the  soul's  own  consciousness  of 
spiritual  needs,  a  Sunday  when  men  shut  their  shops 
not  by  a  law  of  the  State  but  by  the  law  of  God  in 
their  hearts,  His  everlasting  law  that  the  life  is  more 
than  meat, — a  Sunday  when  the  duty  of  the  human 
child  to  know  his  divine  Father,  that  duty  transfig- 
ured to  a  privilege,  fills  every  hour  with  fresh  and 
eager  and  ingenious  exercise  of  the  best  powers  that 
the  children  of  God  possess.  Every  relaxing  of  the 
iron  laws  of  Sunday  ought  to  be  the  opening  of 
the  sacred  day  towards  this  divine  ideal.  Oh,  let  the 
men  who  want  the  Sunday  made  more  free,  be  sure, 
as  they  are  Christian  men,  that  they  are  asking  it  in 
the  interest  of  an  elevated  and  not  of  a  degraded 
spirituality.  Let  them  know  that  it  is  not  an  easier 
but  a  harder  Sunday  that  they  ask,  a  Sunday  more 
exacting  in  the  demands  it  makes  upon  the  personal 
conscience,  upon  the  spiritual  ambition,  upon  the 
constant,  unsleeping  vigilance  of  the  soul  which  on 
the  free  day  would  come  freely  to  the  presence  of 
God  to  its  own  best  life.  The  man  who  clearly  sees 
and  solemnly  accepts  that  responsibility  has  a  relig- 
ious right  as  against  every  church  and  teacher  to 
claim  the  full  freedom  of  his  holy  day. 

All  these  same  things  are  true  about  all  religious 
observances,  about  coming  to  church,  about  stated 
times  of  prayer,  about  free  intercourse  with  every 
kind  of  worship.  In  every  case  the  tight,  hard  rule 
does  to  a  large  extent  accomplish  what  it  undertakes. 


354  THE  MITIGATION  OF  THEOLOGY. 

but  it  cannot  undertake  the  best.  He  who  launches 
out  into  a  freer  life  sets  sail  for  higher  things,  but  he 
ought  to  know  all  the  dangers  of  the  voyage  and  be 
ready  for  all  the  patience  and  watchfulness  and  sac- 
rifice it  will  require.  If  he  has  faced  all  that,  then 
let  him  sail,  but  not  till  then.  That  is  the  true  law 
of  all  liberty. 

I  think  that  no  man  carefully  reads  the  words  of 
Christ  and  does  not  feel  how  full  his  soul  is  always 
of  this  truth  which  I  have  tried  to  preach  to-day. 
He  came  to  lead  his  people  out  to  freedom.  He 
came  to  show  the  love  of  God.  I  think  that  as  He 
stands  there  in  the  porch  of  the  Hebrew  temple 
preaching  His  Christian  Gospel  we  can  often  seem 
to  see  upon  His  face  and  to  hear  trembling  in  His 
voice  a  deep  anxiety.  He  evidently  dreads  lest  to 
these  people  freedom  and  love  should  seem  to  be  the 
abrogation  and  not  the  consummation  of  the  Law. 
"  Think  not  that  I  am  come  to  destroy,  I  am  not 
come  to  destroy  but  to  fulfil,"  these  are  His  earnest 
warning  words.  The  broad  is  more  exacting  than 
the  narrow  ;  the  complete  makes  larger  demands 
than  the  partial;  how  He  is  always  insisting  upon 
that!  It  was  said  by  them  of  old  time  "  Thou  shalt 
not  forswear  thyself.  But  I  say  unto  you,  swear 
not  at  all."  "  Ye  have  heard  that  it  hath  been 
said  an  eye  for  an  eye  and  a  tooth  for  a  tooth,  but 
I  say  unto  you  resist  not  evil."  Everywhere  He 
is  so  anxious  that  His  Gospel  should  seem  to  be 
not  the  corruption  but  the  transfiguration  of  duty. 
That  the  broad  is  more  exacting  than  the  narrow, 
that  the  complete  makes  larger  demands  than  the 


THE   MITIGATION   OF  THEOLOGY.  355 

partial,  that  no  theology  is  really  an  advance  on 
what  has  gone  before  it  unless  it  deepens  the  sense 
of  personal  duty  and  the  awfulness  of  living, — these 
are  the  convictions  which  we  want  to  see  firmly  set 
in  the  minds  and  consciences  of  men ;  and  then  there 
is  no  need  to  fear, — nay,  we  may  rejoice  in  and  be 
thankful  for  every  sign  of  liberal  thought  and  action, 
every  claim  of  personal  freedom  which  men  make  for 
the  belief  and  worship  of  their  souls. 

There  is  a  picture  which  one  dares  to  hope  is  be- 
ing realized  in  many  a  brave  and  faithful  spirit  in 
these  days  of  ours.  A  true  and  earnest  man  longs 
for  a  larger  view  of  God  and  for  a  chance  to  live 
more  freely  in  His  service.  By  and  by  he  finds  that 
he  can  have  such  a  chance,  that  it  belongs  to  him  as 
God's  child.  He  takes  it  joyfully.  He  lives  in 
larger  doctrine,  in  more  spiritual  relation  to  all  ordi- 
nances ;  and  yet  as  he  grows  more  free  he  grows 
more  scrupulously,  more  eagerly  obedient.  Every 
wish  of  God,  discerned  by  free  spiritual  sympathy, 
holds  him  like  a  law,  and  his  daily  delight  lies  in 
finding  how  strong  is  love  to  do  the  work  which 
once  he  thought  could  not  be  done  except  by  fear. 
Every  new  theological  breadth  means  a  new  obliga- 
tion to  be  pure  and  true  and  holy.  It  is  as  if  the 
world  had  been  hooped  with  iron  and  kept  shut  up 
in  a  vacuum  till  some  day  it  was  flung  freely  abroad 
into  its  atmosphere,  and  found  its  iron  hoops  no 
longer  needed,  only  because  its  new  liberty  held  it 
so  close  into  a  sphere.  That  is  the  picture  of  the 
best  progress  of  earth,  and  the  promise  of  the  best 
blessedness  of  heaven. 


356  THE  MITIGATION   OF  THEOLOGY. 

We  have  wandered  far  enough  from  the  old  banks 
of  the  Nile  where  stands  King  Pharaoh  vainly  prom- 
ising that  if  the  thunder  and  the  hail  will  only  cease 
he  will  be  good.  But  I  hope  in  all  our  morning's 
wandering  we  have  been  learning  that  the  ceasing 
of  hail  and  thunder  of  itself  makes  no  man  good, 
that  no  mitigation  of  theology,  no  truer  presenta- 
tion of  God,  no  fading  out  of  old  threats,  no  relax- 
ing of  discipline,  however  they  may  sweetly  tempt 
men  to  a  higher  life,  can  ever  abolish  that  which  i& 
the  first  law  and  the  highest  privilege  of  human  life, 
the  everlasting  need  of  moral  struggle,  of  patient 
watchfulness  over  ourselves,  of  resolute  fight  with 
ourselves  and  of  humble  prayer  to  God,  and  of 
brotherly  devotion  to  our  brethren  which  alone 
makes  us  truly  men. 


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